It's Just A Spark
by empresskris
Summary: After the Third World War, the planet is left desolate and barren. With the rise of the Militia, those who are left are forced to choose: join or stand against them. Santana, born from rebels, was thrust into the war as a child. After witnessing her father's death, she dreams of revenge. Until one day an unexpected woman enters her life and causes her to question everything.
1. Chapter 1

**Decided to go another route with this fic. Trying something kinda new with a post apocalyptic setting. It might be a little violent, so if you don't like that sort of thing I don't recommend hanging around. It's definitely a strong M for language, violence, and eventually some sexual content. Consider yourself warned! And if you do decided to stay, please enjoy! **

* * *

_There are so many dead bodies._

_I look around me and am startled to see them all. Most are Militia; their dark grey uniforms covered in rust colored blood. I briefly wonder how many of them I've killed. 14 years old and I helped do this._

_"There are too many. We will never walk away from this using these guns," my father says motioning towards his pistol. He squats down beside us as the bullets continue to graze the block of cement we are crouched behind._

_I know there are more Rebels behind us, but I'm not sure how many. Very few from the sound of the firing coming from our backs. The odds of coming out of this alive are most definitely not in our favor._

_"Give me the bag," Will instructs as he holds out his hand._

_ My father shakes his head and tosses his pistol on the ground. "No."_

_"Cale, that was the plan. I get the bag." Will's tone is harsh._

_My father matches his tone. "Well plans change."_

_I look between the two men. My father and his best friend. Whatever is happening, they are not on the same page. And that is rare in itself. "What's going on?" I ask them._

_"Cale," Will simply says and casts a quick glance in my direction._

_My dad wraps two white strips of cloth around his hands, like he's wrapping his knuckles before a good fight. The Militia are shouting at us to surrender. I would've scoffed if I hadn't been so concerned over the amount of tension radiating off of the two men to my left._

_"I'm the hero, remember?" My father smiles, that arrogant half-smile that my mother used to hate. It meant he was about to do something incredibly reckless._

_My father takes his other pistol from his belt and tosses it in the dirt at Will's feet. "Cale!" Will pleads._

_"Protect her," is all my father says back._

_Protect who? What is going on? "Dad?"_

_He turns to me, every ounce of anger immediately gone from his face. He smiles softly. "I love you, mija."_

_I have a really bad feeling about this. "Dad…"_

_My dad stands and raises his hands above his head. He turns to Will as the Militia are yelling at one another to hold their fire. "Take her. Go," he says, leaving no room for argument. Will nods and reaches out to grab my arm as my dad turns away from us._

_I start to panic as I lift up enough to watch my dad walk towards the Militia, his hands still raised. They are yelling at him to put his hands behind his head, which he does. He's surrendering? Why is he surrendering? My dad has been fighting them his whole life, my whole life. Why would he give us up now?_

_Something isn't right._

_I push Will's hand off of my arm and stand. "Dad," I hear myself say. "Dad!" I call out louder. He won't turn around. It makes me even more anxious. Why won't he look at me?_

_"Santana get down!" Will hisses at me as he tries to tug me back towards the ground. But the Militia doesn't seem to care about either one of us. They're all completely focused on my father, who continues to walk towards them._

_They scream at him to kneel. He does. Soon, every last one of them surrounds him. Their guns are drawn inches away from his face. One of them suddenly hits him so hard he almost falls over. "Dad!" I scream. But if hears me, he doesn't turn to show it._

_He pulls himself back up to a kneeling position. I see him make the slightest of movements into the small bag slung low on his hip. What's he doing? What's so important about that bag? What's inside of the bag?! _

_I put all my weight on my back foot as I launch forward with my other, intent on sprinting to him. But it's no use. Will sees me start to move and catches me in a bear hug before I can pounce. He is infuriatingly strong. He holds on to me so tightly I can barely get my hands high enough up on his chest to push at him. "Dad!" I try and yell over his shoulder._

_Will pulls me in tighter. "Stop," he says. "Santana, stop!"_

_I struggle harder. "I have to get to my father!" I scream. "Let me go!" I push, hit and punch at him as hard as I can. He doesn't budge._

_"We have to leave," he tells me desperately. "Your father needs you to leave!"_

_"No," I shake my head. "Not without him!"_

_Will starts to tug me away from my father and the Militia, who have noticed his hand in the bag. They are warning him to show them his hands. They are threatening to kill him, despite knowing he is wanted and more valuable alive._

_"Santana, we have to leave now!"_

_No. I tug at the knife strapped at my hip and wedge it between us, holding the blade against Will's neck. "Get out of my way or so help me I'll drag this blade across your neck!" I hiss, my eyes trained on his. I see his pupils dilate. We both know I'm serious._

_Will loosens his grip just enough for me to break free. I push him so hard he stumbles backwards and I make a dead sprint towards my father. _

_I pick up my father's discarded pistols and cock them both, intent on killing them all. "Dad!" I scream again as I run wildly towards him. Again, he seems not to hear me. He starts to pull something dark and round from the bag. The expressions on the faces of the men surrounding him turn instantly from threatening to threatened. A naked fear. Suddenly, their guns are down and they're stumbling amongst themselves to run away from my father. _

_One of them regains enough composure and spins, firing a quick few shots at my father. I see my father's body jerk backward from the impact. "Dad!" _

_The sight has me squeezing both triggers. Somewhere far behind me I hear Will calling my name. He's screaming at someone to stop. Is it me? Is it the man firing at my father? It doesn't matter. None of that matters._

_I aim for their chests, both for the bigger target and for the prolonged pain it'll cause. I shoot until all I hear is a constant click click click. And then I keep pulling despite knowing I've emptied both mags._

_I've killed four more. Maybe five. That doesn't matter either. The rest keep running._

_I look towards my father. Even at distance I can see the red blossoming underneath his tan shirt. I start to run again, directly towards him. And that's when I see him raise his hands higher in the air. I see the small, dusty-grey cylindrical disc in his hands. I know what it is instantly. It's a cluster mine. The very same type of homemade explosives my father kept safely locked away in his safe back home. I come to a quick halt, my eyes wide. "No! Dad don't -"_

_The blast knocks me from my feet. I fly backwards and land hard on the ground, my ears ringing. I bring my hands up to shield my head as I hear debris landing all around me. A long, hazy moment passes in which I am instantly sure I have gone permanently deaf. I manage to sit up and catch my bearings, but everything seems one big blur. I wipe at my forehead and come away with dark red fingertips._

_Will appears from the dust. He pulls me to my feet with one, hard tug._

_I turn to look for my father but he's no longer there. No one is there. Just a small crater where the Militia regiment once stood. The few who managed to put enough distance between them are long gone into the dust._

_"Come on. We have to leave," Will yells loud enough for me to hear through the ringing in my ears. I don't want to leave. I want to stay and wait for my father to reappear. I want to shake my head and wake up from this daze only to realize it was all a dream._

_"Dad?"_

_"Santana. We have to go."_

_He tugs at my arm and I feel him pull me away. My feet try to follow but I have no more strength. Days of fighting and my last burst of energy to try and get to my father have drained me completely. I can barely even stand._

_Will scoops me up in one move and carries me away, headed towards a dozen or so of the Rebels that are beginning to appear from the dissipating dust. I wrap my arms around his neck and notice my hands and arms are covered in blood. I don't even know if it's mine._

_I look over his shoulder as he jogs us away. The spot where I last saw my father is getting smaller and smaller. My face is warm. Either from the incredible anger I feel or the tears that I realize are now rolling in sheets down my cheeks. But I don't care._

_My father is dead._

* * *

**Chapter 1. **

**ELEVEN YEARS LATER – SOMEWHERE IN THE MIDWEST**

_Smack! _

I squint my eyes a little more. I count five of them.

_Smack!_

I watch as the handful of lightly armed people pick through the rusted cars a few hundred yards away. I smirk. They won't find anything there. Those cars were stripped down to nothing even before I came around these parts. But they function perfectly as the lure we hoped them to be. It's always easy to spot travelers at the wrecks.

_Smack!_

I pull the binoculars from my eyes and focus on the person next to me.

He turns his head slowly from the scope of his rifle, noticing my glare, a genuine confused look on his face. "What?"

"Really? Gum?" I ask, looking at him pointedly.

"It helps me focus," he says sheepishly.

I roll my eyes. "How many do you see?"

Mike brings the rifle scope back up to his eye. "Five."

I scan the small group again, taking special note of the weapons they have on them. "Yeah me too."

"Raiders?"

Two rifles, a sword, a hand gun and a baseball bat. I shake my head. "Not enough fire power. My guess: it's a couple of scavengers." I lower the binoculars.

Mike arches a brow, casting a quick glance in my direction before his eye is back against the scope. "Out this late?"

"Didn't say they were smart." I push up on my knees and nod towards the group. "If they get too close or start to fire, let me know."

Mike nods sharply. "You got it."

I make my way down the hill, nodding at people as I pass. I look up at the sky. The sun is dropping and there are dark clouds in the distance. The wind picks up slightly, the air cooler than it was several minutes ago. I inhale deeply and catch the dampness in the atmosphere.

Not much I can do about the weather, so I walk towards the tavern, the rumbling in my stomach begging to be sated. I hear an old Buddy Holly song through tinny speakers as I push open the door. I squint and try and adjust my eyes to the low lighting. The place is pretty empty, save for the few sitting at the other end of the bar. It's too early for the dinner time rush.

The rumble from my stomach is loud and fairly embarrassing. I'm hungrier than I thought. I step up to the bar, sliding onto one of the vacant stools, and place the binoculars on the counter. Rachel pushes the door open from the back and steps out carrying a large loaf of bread. She smiles when she sees me.

"Cut this will you?" she asks, placing the loaf and a large knife on the counter.

"I didn't wash my hands," I tell her.

She gives me a look and glances at the folks down the length of the bar. "Like it matters," she says with a snort.

I look over at the three men who appear as if they haven't bathed in days. I wrinkle my nose in disgust. "Good point."

We share a smile and I go about cutting slices of bread as Rach busies herself with the large pot over the fire on the other side of the counter. "It's getting cooler," she says as she ladles some stew into a bowl. "And the days are getting shorter." She turns and places the bowl in front of me and reaches for a spoon to hand that over as well.

"The season is definitely changing," I agree, pulling the stew towards me.

She scoops up the bread and carries several pieces down to the men picking at their dinner plates. They nod in thanks. She smiles and turns to walk back over my way, wiping her hands on the small towel hanging from her pants. "It's been kind of quiet lately."

I feel him walking up from behind me before I even hear him. "Why would you say that? That's the kiss of death." I don't even turn my head as Puck plops roughly onto the stool next me.

I shovel a large spoonful into my mouth, wincing as it burns my mouth. I cough and reach for the pitcher of water still behind the counter.

Rachel smirks and hands me a glass. She turns to fix Puck a bowl. "It's not a kiss of death, Noah. It's stating a fact," she says, her back to us.

"I'll give you another kind of kiss later if you'd like," he says, leaning across the bar. I can hear the smirk in his voice.

Rachel's head snaps towards him, her jaw clenched. "That's inappropriate."

"That's not what you said -"

"Noah." Her tone is sharp.

I look between the two. Rachel's face is red and angry. He looks guilty. Interesting.

She glances at me, clearly embarrassed, and drops the bowl in front of Puck, stew spilling onto the counter. My eyes lift to Rachel's as she shifts uncomfortably. "Good stew, Rach," I say stirring the contents in the bowl and blowing lightly on the food.

She looks relieved at the subject change. "Thank you." She gives Puck one last seething look and then leans on the counter. "Have you seen Kurt or Blaine today?"

Puck scoffs. "They're 'experimenting'."

"I'm worried about them. Blaine is…" I look up from my bowl with a sharp look. Rachel knows better than to say anything negative about him but I silently warn her just the same. "I think the more human interaction he gets the better," she finally says.

I sigh. Here we go with Rachel playing behaviorist again. "He has plenty of human interaction," I tell her. "He's fine."

"Physically, yes," she says. "I just wish he'd stop watching all those moving pictures. Maybe that would help."

Puck snorts. "Yeah, try prying them away."

"Look, Blaine isn't like us. He doesn't communicate the way we do, but it works for him," I say.

"Quoting those moving pictures instead of holding a normal conversation is a little more than strange, don't you think?" Rachel asks gently.

"Rachel's right. He can be a little hard to follow," Puck chimes in.

"We can understand him just fine. So just leave it alone," I say just forcefully enough for both Puck and Rachel to get the idea. They share a look but wisely decide not to press on.

"Have you heard anything from the east?" Rachel asks instead.

I shake my head, glad the subject of my best friend has been dropped. "No," I say finally. "Nothing new."

Rachel sighs and pushes herself off of the counter. "Well, no news is good news, I suppose."

I nod, but don't respond. I look down at my dinner and listen as she and Puck begin to bicker about how quiet things are. I don't tell them that no news makes me nervous. I don't mention that the "quiet" downright terrifies me.

* * *

I hold the bowls in my hands as best I can despite the intense heat. I bring my foot up and kick at the door several times.

Kurt answers the door in a long-ass white coat and bug-eyed, plastic goggles. "You look ridiculous," I tell him. He pushes the goggles up on his head and pulls the door open for me, not responding to my comment on his appearance. "You've been holed up in here for days. Don't you want some fresh air?"

"I'm so close, Santana. I can feel it," he calls out over his shoulder as he walks away.

I look around the house. It's a disaster. Papers everywhere, books thrown all over the place. Blaine is watching something on the portable screen from the couch. He doesn't look up. A sharp buzzing sound snaps my head to the center of the main room. There's a large metal tower-looking thing shooting up from the floor, through the ceiling and into the open air. I arch an eyebrow. "Well you sure are close to something," I mumble. "You might get lucky tonight though. Looks like a storm is rolling in."

Blaine looks up from the picture player, a large smile on his face. "This storm will be magnificent. All the electrical secrets of Heaven. And this time we're ready, eh, Fritz?" he says, turning towards Kurt quoting one of his moving pictures.

Kurt offers him a smile then goes back to his work.

I can't take my eyes off the new structure protruding through their ceiling. When the _hell_ did he build that thing? Suddenly, a thought occurs to me. "If it rains, you're gonna get wet, you do realize that, right?"

Kurt turns from jotting down his notes. "We have buckets." He says it as if it's the most obvious solution in the world. For a smart guy, he sure is stupid.

With a sigh I hold up the two steaming bowls I've carried over. "I brought you some stew before Puck could eat it all." I place the bowls on the nearby table. After a moment, Blaine pauses the moving picture and comes over to grab one.

I reach out and give him a playful push. He smiles.

Kurt suddenly slaps himself of the forehead. "Your music player! I almost forgot. It's all charged up."

I rock on my heels as I watch him unplug the device to one of his inventions that reboots the battery. I've been waiting to get this back all day. He hands it over with a smile and I take it a bit anxiously. "Thank you."

Kurt gives me a nod and I turn to Blaine who is smelling the stew appreciatively. I point my finger in his direction and give him a serious look. "You better help me with that fence tomorrow, Blaine. Just 'cause Kurt locks himself away like a weirdo doesn't mean you have to."

Blaine stands up straight and gives me a sharp salute. "Aye, aye captain!" He's so serious, I can't help but smile. He returns the gesture.

Kurt looks hurt. "Really? Why do _you_ always get the cool quotes and I get shit like _Frankenstein_?" Kurt's been watching these moving pictures with Blaine so often even Kurt's starting to memorize their lines.

I reach out and lightly slap his face with my hand. "Because you're the evil genius and I'm the hero." He rolls his eyes but I know he's not really upset. I give Blaine a wink and head for the door. A low rumble of thunder in the distance gives me pause. I turn around and give Kurt a wary look. "Just… try not to fry the whole town, okay?"

* * *

The rain starts suddenly. It's loud as it careens and crashes against the tin roof of my single-story house. It's comforting, even despite the loud crack of thunder that breaks the otherwise calming sound.

I stare at the large map on my wall of what was once the United States. I trace my eyes across the state lines and all the major roads and cities. All the intricately laid out and carefully planned borderlines that exist solely as artwork now. There are few roads or cities to divide anymore. There are only a handful of lines that truly exist now, and none of those are marked on maps like this.

The Third World War really fucked this planet up.

I sigh and stand, putting my whiskey aside and running my eyes along an invisible path I have outlined in my head. My eyes land on the same spot I've been thinking about for most of my life. The one spot untouched by the Third World War. Untouched by all the bombings. Untouched by the Militia.

39.5340

-107.3316

Memories flood through me all at once: My father threading a worm onto the end of a fish hook. My mother drying clothes on the line. Me laughing as I run aimlessly through a green field. Dipping my toes into the chilly stream waters...

I squeeze my eyes shut. One day I'll get back there. Until then I'm content where I am.

I think of my father and wonder what he would think of my friends. If he'd approve of them. I'd like to think that if they are good enough for me, then they'd be good enough for him. I can't help but wish he could've met them.

They've become my family.

If you asked any one of them, they'd probably tell you I saved them all from the bandit and raider attacks. But honestly, it's the other way around; they saved me. Without them, I'd still be wandering the flatlands, trying to find a place to blend in and settle down.

If this town hadn't taken me in and provided me a new life, I'm not sure who or what I would've become. I've found an incredible sense of peace in purpose in seeing them all safe, day in and day out. To shield them from all the bad things that surround them. And I'd give my life to do it.

I wonder what my father would think of this life I've made for myself out here. I wonder if he'd approve of me staying out of the war. Or if he'd approve of me settling down. I wonder if he'd be bored here or if he'd like to be settled down too, doing common things like patching fences and fixing roofs.

Or if he'd still prefer building bombs and killing the Grey Coats.

I wonder what my father would think of a lot of things.

I wonder what he'd think of _me_.

I turn and step back towards my chair, dropping back down into the worn fabric. I scoop up the bottle of whiskey, not even bothering to refill the glass. I pull straight from the bottle. I wince as it scorches my throat and I reach for the last letter I received from Will several months ago. I've read it a thousand times since the courier delivered it. And I'll probably read it a thousand more times before I reply.

_The Militia has taken over much of the East. They are starting to push further South. It won't be long before they trickle out West. Remain vigilant and stay safe. –W._

His warning is loud and clear: The Militia is headed my way.

It's only a matter of time before they close in on us here.

I place the letter back on the table and instead grab my music player. I stick the ear pieces inside my ears and turn on the device. I drag my thumb across the volume, playing the music as loud as the player will allow. I close my eyes and think of the Militia headed this way.

The thought of revenge both exhilarates and terrifies me.


	2. Chapter 2

I raise the blade behind my head and bring it down forcefully, splitting the large block of wood in half. I reach for another block and glance up at the morning sun, squinting despite the darkened sunglasses I always wear. This morning's storm has pushed away most of the humidity and brought an occasional breeze along with it, but the sun is still hot and I feel the sweat building up.

To my left, Blaine busy hammering in the wood planks Puck and I pre-cut the day before. He attaches the new piece into the fence, replacing the rotted, weather wood that had been barely hanging in place. His tongue is sticking out slightly from the side of his mouth as he concentrates on driving the nails in straight. It makes me smirk. I know he'd rather be tinkering with one of Kurt's eccentric inventions or watching his moving pictures, but I appreciate him being here helping me. He needs to get out of house every now and then.

"So, how much water did you have to bucket out of your house last night?" I ask him, leaning on the ax and taking a break.

Blaine finishes hammering the nail in the new piece of wood and turns to me, a sheepish look on his face. "Here lies Walter Fielding. He bought a house, and it killed him."

I laughed. "That bad, huh?" He nods. "Well I appreciate you helping me with the fence. It's a lot of work considering you were up so late."

"There's a lot of happiness in working hard… maybe the most," Blaine says grinning.

I chuckle and shake my head. "Well, let's not get carried away."

"Santana!"

I turn towards Mike, who is practically hanging out of the crow's nest. He sees me looking and immediately thrusts an index finger towards the entrance of town. I turn my head and squint. Puck is opening the front gate. I see a familiar hat on the head of an old man leading a horse just inside the town walls.

Blaine looks over at me inquisitively. I wipe my brow with the back of my hand and give him a nod. Appeased, he sets back to work on the fence. I prop the ax against the newly repaired planks and make my way over to Puck and the new arrival.

The old man is looking pretty haggard these days. Traveling from town to town in the summer heat has worn on him even more than the last time I saw him. But he smiles that same wide, slow grin when he sees me coming and that makes me smile back. "Hey George, good to see you again."

George nods at me as he pats his horse and brings the old mare to a stop. His face may be covered in dirt and dust, but his bright blue eyes stand out amidst his deeply tanned, leathered complexion. "Hey there, kiddo."

I reach my hand out to shake his in greeting. "How's the road?"

"Dusty," he says simply.

I glace at his ragged appearance. I can usually tell if he's coming or if he's going by how worn his clothes look. Despite the rain the night before, George is literally covered head to toe in dried earth and dust. His shoulders are slumped and his body shows weariness of a man that hasn't slept in days. I know immediately that he's on his way home. "Have you eaten? I'm sure Rachel can find you something."

George shakes his head quickly. "No, no I can't stay. I'm trying to make it to the next town over before nightfall." It's quick, but I catch the quick look he gives Puck before looking away. It's not a mannerism you'd usually see George make. He's spooked by something. "I would trouble you for some water for me and my horse though."

I glance at Puck and he nods. "I'm on it." He leaves the two of us alone.

I watch him for a second more before nodding towards his saddle bags. "Find anything interesting out there?"

Instantly George relaxes. He moves to one of the smaller bags tied to his saddle and opens it up, rummaging inside. "Not too much," he says, lifting some items from the bag. "Just a couple of dead batteries and a few more of them moving pictures."

He extends the large batteries and the handful of moving pictures in my direction. I take the items and examine them. I look at the faded and worn covers containing the shiny discs that Blaine loves so much. They don't mean much to me, but I know Blaine will be excited.

I turn towards Blaine, who is still working on the fence and bring my fingers to my lips, letting out a long whistle. Blaine's head whips around towards mine and I hold up the thin plastic cases high in the air for him to see. His smile is immediate and impossible to miss. He sets his hammer down and jogs over to me and George.

George scratches the back of his neck and squints. "To tell you the truth, my memory ain't what it used to be. Not sure which ones he already has."

Blaine nods his head in greeting to George and then focuses in on the items in my hands. I swear he's like a little kid sometimes. He waits somewhat patiently for me to hand him George's find. The second they're in his hands, he's flipping the case over and examining every inch of the faded images and colors. "Don't get too excited," I tell him. "That fence isn't gonna repair itself."

Blaine looks up at me with wide eyes. "Mom, Uncle Frank won't let me watch the movie, but the big kids can. Why can't I?"

I roll my eyes at the whine in his voice but, as usual, his pleading eyes manage to get to me just like they always do. "Go on, you're done for the day," I tell him, giving him a little shove. "And give those batteries to Kurt!"

Blaine turns and rushes towards his house where I know I probably won't see him again for the rest of the day. Not until he's watched and memorized every minute of the gifts George has brought him. "My mother thanks you. My father thanks you. My sister thanks you. And I thank you," Blaine calls out excitedly over his shoulder, never looking back once.

George shakes his head and chuckles. "Strange kid. I like him, but I can't understand a word he says."

"He'll love them. Thank you." I turn towards George and cross my arms over my chest. "How's Brittany?" I ask as casually as I can.

And that's when George's smile finally fades. It was only a matter of time before I asked about her. I always ask. "She's good. Very good. She's due any day now. Starting to look real plump, that's for sure."

The updates on her pregnancy still manage to get to me. I'm happy that she's happy, but it still manages to hurt from time to time. I'm grateful for the darkened sunglasses covering my eyes. "Good."

George sighs and I tense, knowing what's coming next. "Why won't you let me tell her where you are? Or, Hell, you know where she is. Why don't you go see her? I think it would do you both a lot of good. She asks me if I've run you out on the road. I hate having to lie to my own granddaughter."

I shake my head and uncross my arms, resting my hands on my hips instead. "No. I don't want her to know where I am."

"At least let me tell her you're doing well. She worries."

I turn my attention back on George and point my finger in his direction. "Not a word about me, you swore."

"Hi, George!"

He looks past me at Rachel, who is walking up towards us just as bubbly as ever. I'm grateful for the escape from the conversation. George shoots me one last look that finishes his unspoken disagreement before turning fully towards Rachel. "Rachel! Now aren't you a sight for sore eyes," he drawls and spreads his arms wide to bring her into a big bear hug.

"I thought I saw you out here. You're looking as handsome as ever." I watch as she leans in kisses him on the cheek.

"And you are looking as radiant as ever, my dear," he laughs.

After their friendly embrace, Rachel pulls away and hands him a stuffed bag. "I have some food for you."

George eyes the bag skeptically. "I don't know, I don't feel right taking so much food when I don't have so much to trade today."

Rachel brushes the comment aside and shoves the bag into his chest, forcing him to take it. "Nonsense. You're a friend. We feed our friends."

"You are quite the catch," George chuckles.

Rachel blushes and looks over at me.

Puck clears his throat loudly, smirking at me as he hands George a large thermos of water and places a bucket down for the horse to drink.

"Any news?" I ask.

George hesitates and glances at Rachel. He looks back at me and I shrug. She might as well hear the news now. I'm going to tell her after he leaves anyway. George takes a large sip of water. "Just came from the large village a few days walk east of here. They heard of a town close by that was just attacked by the Militia."

Rachel looks between me and George, a surprised look on her face. Makes me realize why George didn't want to speak so openly in front of her. "The Militia? This far West?"

George nods his head regretfully. "Yes, ma'am. Burned the whole place down. They saw the smoke from their own village."

Puck crosses his arms, skeptical. "You sure it wasn't raiders? The Militia is usually more careful than that. Raiders on the other hand…"

"They swear by it. Saw the Militia cruise on by them a few days later. Described the grey uniforms down to every last detail," George says. "You know the Militia has been known to attack people who resist them."

"Shit," Rachel whispers under her breath.

"Do you know their numbers?" Puck asks.

George shakes his head. "Enough to attack and burn down a medium-sized village. And that's all that matters now, isn't it?"

"Guess they resisted," Puck says dryly.

Rachel looks at me with wide eyes. I reach out and place my hand on her arm, trying to calm her. "Thanks for the heads up," I say to George casually. "We'll keep an eye out."

George finishes his water and hands the empty thermos to Puck. "Well, I guess I better be on my way if I want to make it home before nightfall. Don't want to be caught out alone at night."

Rachel reaches out and takes his hand in her own. She squeezes it tightly. "Take care of yourself, George. Please be careful."

"Will do," he says with a smile and nod. Rachel gives him another breath-stealing hug which he returns. He gives Puck a farewell nod and turns to me, motioning towards the gate for me to follow.

He waves to Mike standing on the hill near the gate and we step outside of the town walls.

"Not trying to scare you folks, but I would recommend doubling up your security," he suggests.

"I'll definitely double up watch," I tell him. George mounts his horse and I reach out to take hold of the reins, keeping them steady. "I appreciate the heads up. And I think you should take your own advice. When you get home, I want you to stay there for awhile. This whole thing may blow over and turn out to be a one shot deal, but if it's true and the Militia is out this far…"

"Then we're in for a whole lot of trouble," he finishes for me.

I nod and our eyes meet. We both know it's more than likely it isn't a one-shot deal. "Send word if you see or hear of anything new."

"Same goes for you." I let go of the reins and pat the horse on his side as George gives it a little kick of his heel. "Keep these people safe. They're depending on you," he says as he rides away.

I rest my hand on the hilt of my pistol strapped to my thigh. I glance behind me at Mike and Puck watching me from the gate and I sigh. I have a feeling my happy, peaceful little world is about to change.

* * *

I run my thumb over the soft, flat surface of the stone. I push away the small layer of dirt that managed to cover the top of the otherwise white rock. I bring back my arm just slightly and twist my wrist as I release the stone towards the water. My eyes follow it as it skips the surface once, twice, three, four, and then five times before plunking into the water.

I stare at the ripples on the water and think about my options. I knew this day would come. It had to. The Militia could only fight in the East for so long before pushing out this way. It's been years since the Grey Coats have been seen out this far. We all have my father to thank for that. But I'm not at all surprised to hear they've finally grown bold again. Frankly, I'm surprised it took the bastards this long.

So now I have a choice. I can stay and hope they pass without incident or I can go out and meet them halfway. Try and keep them away from stumbling onto this town.

_They're depending on you…_

It rolls around in my head over and over again like a mantra. When I was on my own, I could do whatever I wanted. Make choices that affected me and only me. But now I have an entire town to worry about. And without knowing the numbers of the Militia or what they're doing here, striking first seems like a pretty reckless thing to do. Not if I want to stick around long enough to make sure my friends stay safe.

So that leaves me with only one choice: hope that they pass us by.

I hear light footsteps behind me. I pick up another smooth rock and fling it forward.

Six skips before sinking in the water.

"Impressive," Rachel says behind me. I push my sunglasses on top of my head and squint up at her. She smiles and holds up a plate. "I thought you might be hungry."

"Thanks." I reach up and take the plate, looking down at the sandwich resting in the middle. She's cut it in half.

"You okay?" She asks and sits down beside me.

I pick up a half of the sandwich and take a large bite. "Fantastic," I tell her when I'm finished chewing. She gives me a wary look and I flash her a smile. "So what's going on between you and Puck?"

She is so caught off-guard that the shock on her face is almost comical. "What? Nothing. Nothing is going on."

"Sure doesn't seem like nothing."The blush on her face deepens and she looks away from me. "Once you strip away the Mohawk and the crude comments he really is a pretty decent guy."

Rachel closes her eyes. "Santana…"

"And he's pretty good in the sack," I add.

She turns to look at me, her face completely serious… and a little bit disgusted. "Could you not?"

I put the plate beside me and sigh. "Everyone deserves a little intimacy."

"Please drop it," she begs.

"Okay, okay." I let her off the hook this time. Mainly because she brought me a sandwich. But the look on her face makes it clear she has no intention on telling me anything anyway. I reach out and take her hand, squeezing it lightly. "I just want you to be happy, you know."

Rachel squeezes back. "I am happy," she says, gazing distantly down at our hands. I've seen the look before, and I know she's wrestling with something in that pretty little head of hers. Her eyebrows get all bunched up and her lip goes slightly pouty. "Any news of Brittany?"

Of course that's what she wanted to know. I carefully remove my hand from hers and reach for my sandwich. "Just that she's due to have the baby any day now."

Rachel looks at me as if I were about to burst into tears at any second. Despite the careful planning she puts into it, it still pisses me off how she tiptoes around the issue all the time. "Are you okay?"

I shrug and glance at her quickly. "Why wouldn't I be?"

I practically shove the rest of the halved sandwich in my mouth and pretend not to notice her staring. But hey, if she gets to shut down about Puck, I get to do the same about Brittany. She gives me this sad look but sighs and wisely changes the subject. "Is the Militia really heading this way?"

I nod. "I think so."

"Are you worried?" Her eyes are huge and I know she's waiting to see how I will respond before deciding for herself. She's a lot like a little kid in that way. As long as I'm calm, she's calm. And we could really use a calm Rachel right about now. The last thing this little town needs is a rattled Rachel serving them food and going on about how the Militia is due to arrive soon and burn everything down to the ground.

But outright lying to Rachel is next to impossible. There's something about her big brown eyes that always seem to get to me. So I take another bite of my sandwich and shrug casually. "Not yet."

She instantly relaxes. "Then neither am I."

I finish my sandwich in silence, both of us just looking out at the water. Rachel really has become a good friend. If anything ever happened to her I'd be beyond upset. Devastated, actually. I glance at the small pistol strapped to her hip. I frown. If anything _does _happen over the next few days, she's gonna need a lot more than that dinky assed thing strapped to her. I reach beside me and rest my hand on the shotgun I usually keep strapped to my back. You don't need to be a good shot to take someone out with this thing.

I causally slide the much bigger gun towards Rachel. She glances down at it and then up at me curiously. "Just in case," I tell her.

I think about Will and the message I need to get to him as quickly as possible. Our normal courier isn't due back for another several days. My only option now is to send the kid from the next town out there. He's typically only good for short runs out in emergency situations. I wonder if he can be bribed into going that far East.

"Hey, Rach," I start as nonchalantly as I can. She turns towards me and I meet her gaze. "Will you put together an overnight bag of food and water?"

* * *

"What do you have in that safe anyway?"

I look up, curious as to where the hell that question just came from. He nods towards my hand and I realize then that I've been idly playing with the key I wear around my neck. They key to my safe. I quickly drop my hand from fingering the ragged edges of the key. "Nothing for you," I tell him.

He snorts and goes back to examining my map of the old United States. "How the hell could anyone follow this shit?"

"Well, most people have half a brain. That helps," I tell him as I finish my letter to Will.

"Ha. Ha." He turns away from the map and sits down in the chair on the other side of the table and grabs the bottle of whisky resting there. Although his glass is still half-full, he pours and tops himself off anyway. But he doesn't drink it right away. Instead, he picks up one of my books off of the shelf behind him and thumbs through it.

I finish the letter to Will, telling him the news from George. I don't sign my name. Don't need to; he'll know who it's from the second he gets it. I fold it and place it inside another piece of paper and paste the ends of it together, finally marking the corner with a W. I hold the envelope out to Puck and he snatches it and sticks it into his front vest pocket.

"Remember, get there, give the kid the letter, and get back," I tell him again.

He nods. "And remember to warn them about the Militia. I've got this."

I give him a pointed look. "Puck, Will _has_ to get this letter. Make sure that kid gets there as fast as he can. Do whatever you need to do to make that happen. Even if that means giving him your horse. Your gun. Your fucking Mohawk. Anything. You got it?"

"Horse and gun I can do. But the Mohawk stays with me," he says, running a hand through the dark stripe of hair running along the length of his head.

I walk across the room to the couch and reach down for the bag Rachel packed for me earlier. I toss it towards him and he catches it, immediately peeking inside at the contents. I snap my fingers at him to get his attention. "Do you remember the directions I gave you on how to get there?"

"Right up here," he says, tapping the side of his head with his finger and continues to rummage through the bag. Ultimately satisfied with the amount of food Rachel packed for his small trip, he clasps the bag closed and drops it in his lap.

I look at him sitting in the chair and feel guilty for sending him out alone. But I can count the amount of people I fully trust on one hand. Puck's on that hand. Nonetheless, I ask again, "You sure you can handle the trip alone?"

Puck grabs his rifle propped against the table and nods. "I'm sure. If it's true and the Militia are really that close, then no one else should leave."

He's right. I know he is. We need all the help we can get watching the town gates. That doesn't mean I have to like it. "If you're not back by tomorrow night…"

Puck takes the glass from the table and knocks it back in one large gulp. He licks his lips and slams the glass down on the table and stands, swinging the bag over his shoulder and gripping his rifle tightly. "I'll be back before lunch," he says seriously. "Now out of my way, Lopez. I'm losing moonlight."

* * *

_I peer over the edge of the boat at the dark water and give the pole in my hands a hard, frustrated shake. "Why aren't we catching anything?"_

_My father laughs. "You have to be patient, mija. You've gotta let it happen." He shakes his head. "Seven years old and you still have the patience of a toddler."_

_"But we've been here for hours!" I'm whining. I know I am. But I can't help it. I'm so bored!_

_"And? Where is it that you have to be?" He arches an eyebrow at me expectantly._

_I blush and turn away, peering over the edge of the boat once more. "Mom and I are studying history today," I admit quietly. _

_"Learning how to catch your supper is just as important as your studies," he says firmly._

_I square my shoulders and lift my head defensively. "Mom says if we don't learn about the past we're doomed to repeat it."_

_He shrugs as if he's heard it before. I bet he has. My dad is the smartest man in the world. "Some things are inevitable. Everything circles back around in time no matter how much you study and learn."_

_I turn back to the pole in my hands. We've been out here all morning and I'm bored. I want to be reading about the Three World Wars and about all the roads and cities and technology that used to exist before the devastation. _

_I want to learn about the old religions and the ways of the old government. I want to learn about music and movies. (I like to call them moving pictures. Because in reality that's all it looks like to me.) I think about all the books and trinkets my father has pulled out of the old war bunker behind our house. He said most of the bunkers like it don't exist anymore. And that most of the things that existed before the Third World War died along with the majority of the people._

_It makes me sad that that world no longer exists. I'd love to have seen it. It's really hard to imagine what it must have been like._

_I look over at my father, who is holding perfectly still, looking completely content to just sit there and do nothing. I look at the way he's holding his fishing pole and then I look at the way I'm holding mine. I've mirrored him perfectly. I'm actually pretty proud of that. "I just don't understand. Am I not doing it right?" I ask him, feeling as if I'm missing something significant._

_He looks at me with an amused expression. "You're doing it perfectly. The fish aren't going to just leap in the boat because you have some place you'd rather be. Now be still. You're scaring the fish."_

_I sigh and go back to looking down at the end of my fishing pole. After a moment or two, I feel a tug. It's a small wonder I don't drop the rod in the water from the surprise. The pole bends and the end gets pulled deeper in the water. Just as quickly, the tension goes away and my rod is as straight as it has been all morning. I hold my breath, hoping it isn't my imagination playing tricks on me. But then it happens again, and this time the pole bends even more. "Dad?" I whisper warily. "I think something is nibbling at the worms." _

_His head snaps around and he watches as my pole gets tugged over and over. He places his to the side and stands, making his way to my side of the small boat excitedly. "Well, pull it up!"_

_I do my best to pull in the fish, cranking the reel as hard as I can. It feels like a game of tug of war and it takes all my strength to keep from getting pulled out of the boat. I rest the pole between my legs and pull back as it gets harder and harder to turn the reel. _

_I see the fish leap out of the water, the hook stuck in its mouth. "I caught one!"I practically squeal with excitement._

_"Easy now! Easy!" he tells me and darts for the net laying beside me on the wooden seat. "Reel it in, mija," he instructs. I do my best to keep cranking the reel, but I'm getting tired. This fish is strong! I keep at it though, not wanting to disappoint my father. _

_Finally I manage to get the fish to the edge of the boat. "That's right. Now bring the pole towards me!" I do as he says, bringing the fish to the surface of the water and lifting the pole out of the water towards him. "There you go." _

_My father leans so far out of the boat I think for sure he's going to fall in. He reaches out with the net and scoops up the fish, bringing it, hook and all, into the boat. _

_"I did it!" I yell as it flops around inside of the net._

_"You sure did, mija. A big one too!" He unhooks the fish but keeps it in the net. He reels in his line and places his fishing pole inside the boat. "Now let's take this to your mother to clean," he says with a large grin as he reaches for the oars._

_I have never been so proud in my life._

An instant and loud banging wakes me instantly. I glance around my darkened room and try to get my bearings. It takes me a few seconds to remember where I am. I bring the heel of my hand up to rub at my eyes and try to push away the grogginess throughout my body. I must've fallen asleep sometime after Puck left.

The banging continues and I grab my pistol under my pillow and yawn as I make my way to the door. I release the latch and lock and pull the door open. The light in my face makes me squint and I turn my attention to Mike holding up a lantern. "You need to come see this." His face is stony. Intense.

Now alarmed, I grab my jacket from beside the door and shrug it on as I follow Mike past the hill near the front gate and follow him up to the crow's nest. I see Blaine already up there, holding still as he looks out. I climb up the nest as quickly and quietly as I can.

Blaine is looking intently out into the distance with his binoculars. I reach out and put my hand on his shoulder. If he's surprised, he doesn't show it. Instead, he pulls the binoculars down, hands them to me and gives me a wary look. "I've got a bad feeling about this," he says and points in a direction southeast of the town.

It only takes me a second to see what all the fuss is about. "When did the fires go up?" I ask through clenched teeth.

"Ten minutes ago. I came to wake you as soon as we saw them," Mike says.

I count four separate fires. It looks like a cozy little camp. "Did you tell anyone else?"

"Not yet." Mike looks out at the camp fires through his scope. "Think it's the Grey Coats?"

"Could be." I think of Puck heading in the opposite direction, thankful he doesn't have to skirt around the camp. It's good thing he went. At least we can let the people across town know that something definitely _is_ out there. And they're close.

Mike looks up from his rifle. "What do we do?"

I stare at the tiny specks of campfires through the binoculars and take a deep breath. "We wait."

* * *

**Sorry for the delay in updates - sometimes the real world gets in the way of my fictional universe. Thank you to the people who have stopped by and read and especially to those who have reviewed. It's a little different than my last fic so I appreciate it! Stay tuned for Quinn in Ch. 3... **


	3. Chapter 3

The fires burned all through the night. The embers and smoke trails spiral upwards in the morning sky. The dark shapes slowly move in our direction, hazy silhouettes against the barren land. It isn't long before they emerge from the grey and we see that they are, in fact, Militia. Their uniforms are as unmistakable as they are immediately identifiable. I count twenty or so.

"There aren't a lot of them," Mike says. "Definitely not an attacking unit."

I lower the binoculars and shake my head. He hasn't encountered the Militia like I have. None of these people have. "Doesn't matter. Twenty or so Militia is enough to do serious damage. Especially if they're well supplied."

"Do you think they are?" He asks.

"We'll have to wait and see," I tell him regretfully.

He looks down at the townspeople from atop of the hill. Many of them are wandering around with a patchwork of weapons slung over shoulders and hung low against waists, ready to defend their homes and families. "It's been a while since we had to defend this place against anything other than the occasional raider attack," he notes.

I don't have the heart to tell him the Militia is another breed entirely. "Let's just hope they see the size of this place and move on." I look at Mike and place my hand on his arm. "Go make sure Tina is ready. Tell her she might see a lot of damage come her way."

"Santana!" I look up at the crow's nest to see one our lookouts pointing behind us, back towards another section of our perimeter. I turn and look to see Puck on his horse sprinting in our direction.

He's pushing his horse to get here quickly. That can only mean trouble. "Open the gate!" I yell. I sprint down the hill towards Puck, who by the time I reach the gate, is already dismounted and sending his horse away to the stables.

"We've got problems," Puck says, wiping the sweat from his eyes.

I reach out and place my hand on his shoulder. "I know, the Militia is closing in fast."

"What?" He looks surprised and shakes his head. "No," he says. "Raiders."

"Raiders? From where?"

He points in the direction he had just come from. "I lured them away from the kid with your letter. Only problem is, now they're on their way here." He looks at me gravely. "And they're closing in fast."

Raiders coming from the north and the Militia coming from the southeast. Things are about to become very interesting around here. "Go get some water. Catch your breath and get ready. I'm gonna need you out here."

He nods. "Should I sound the alarm?"

"No. The Militia would hear it. It might put them on the defensive before they even reach us." I glance at the men. Some are watching us curiously, the others are pacing anxiously. "Before you get some water, make sure the kids are some place safe and tell everyone else to be ready." He nods his head and turns towards the men waiting just inside the gate. I make my way up the hill and check the north for the group of Raiders who are now visibly making their way towards the town. I turn my attention towards the Militia who are closing in from the other side and take a deep breath. "This might just take care of itself."

* * *

Everything after that happens rather quickly. The Raiders and Militia spot each other almost instantly. Those of us in the middle remain vigilant but hidden along the edge of our town in case either group decides to take the fight to our home.

"As long as we stay still, this might just turn out in our favor," I told the town just moments ago.

The Militia shoots first, naturally. One of the Raiders drops in a puff of red from nor more than 200 yards out. Still, the two armies are pretty evenly matched, the Raiders in a group of close to twenty with the Militia just barely outnumbering them. I realize that I can't decide who I despise more.

We can hear the gunshots and yells from a hundred or so yards away as if they were directly in front of us. But luckily, thanks to Puck's early warning, we're almost comfortably well clear of the battlefront.

"Well this certainly is interesting," Puck says, stepping up beside me.

"It sure is," I agree.

We watch as the Raiders and Militia go back and forth, blow for blow. Little toy soldiers in the desert. The Raiders are fighting just to fight, wanting nothing more than the thrill of bloodshed and the items they would acquire from the fall of the Militia. It's rather frightening, actually; these Raiders are more animal than human. Somewhere along the way, the wires got crossed for these people. They're mindless, ruthless killers motivated only by shiny things and body counts. There's no doubt in my mind they'll come for us next should they beat the Militia.

The Militia members are trained and better armed, but even from here I can tell they're not as sharp. Though they move in the same smartly calculated patterns and small-band formations they always do. But I can tell by the way in which they're spacing out their shots that they're low on ammo. And out here, where ammo is a premium, the Raiders always have the advantage.

It would be better for the town if the Militia came out on top. Unlike the Raiders, they would steer well clear of us. Attaching a village of this size, even recon'ing us, would be too reckless. Especially with their clear lack of supplies. Instead of taking a side, I decide I hope they both just kill each other. Every last one.

"So now what?"

I turn to see Rachel standing on my other side, gripping the shotgun I gave her tightly in her hands. "Rachel…"

She pries her eyes away from the battle and pins me with a seething look. "Don't you dare tell me to get some place safe, Santana. The people I love are out here and I'll be dammed if I'm going to hole up somewhere while you are all out here fighting."

I arch an eyebrow. "But we're not fighting…"

Rachel looks taken back for a moment. She looks over at the fight and then back at the rest of us. "Well… not yet you aren't. But it's only a matter of time before some or all of us are involved. And I want to be here to help."

I look over at Puck, who just shrugs. Some help he is. I sigh and turn back to Rachel's death glare. "Fine. But _you're_ not leaving the gates." She starts to protest but I cover her mouth with my hand. "Not a word. That's non-negotiable. Stay behind the gates or I'll lock you in your tavern."

She rolls her eyes. "Fine," she says, despite my hand still over her mouth.

I remove my hand and place it back on the hilt of my pistol. "Besides, with a little luck, none of us will have to fight."

Fifteen minutes in, the Militia seems to have gained the upper hand. Not that I'm surprised.

"What do you want to do?" Puck asks.

My eyes follow the handful of the remaining Militia and Raiders. And suddenly, I'm thinking back to the letter from Will and the message from George about the burning village. It still makes no sense for the Militia to be this far west in such a small group, burning down villages. It's the type of anomaly that we can't afford to overlook and shrug off. And as much as I hate it, it's painfully apparent that we're going to have to get some answers. And the only way to do that is to question whoever's left standing.

"We're going in." I turn to face them. "Not you," I say pointedly to Rachel. "I need you to go tell Tina she's going to have some work to do."

Rachel glances at the bodies lying a hundred or so yards from our gates. Some are mortally wounded, most are dead. She swallows hard and turns to look at me. I wait silently until she nods and hurries off to deliver the message.

After Rachel is gone, I turn towards Puck, Mike, Blaine and several others who have gathered around to anxiously await the outcome. "We're going out there. Kill the Raiders. Any surviving Militia, we're going to bring them in."

They look startled. Can't say I blame them. Bringing Militia into the gates? It's practically suicide. "What are we going to do with them once they're here?" Puck asks, voicing the others thoughts.

"We're going to ask them a few questions." I pull a pistol from my holster. "Don't kill the surviving Militia. Got it?"

They all nod and I make my way down the hill, several others following me, their guns aimed and primed to shoot.

Blaine and Mike pull open our gates. We carefully make our way towards the dwindling battle, the remaining fighters even smaller than when we set out.

In my peripheral, I see the others raise their guns as we advance. Puck trips over the corpse of a Raider but quickly regains his balance and plays it off like nothing happened. I roll my eyes. Graceful as always.

We're less than 50 yards away from what remains of the fight. Neither the Militia nor the Raiders seem to notice or care about us approaching. As we close in further, something interesting catches my eye.

Two towering Raiders close in on a single girl, each of them twice her size. I watch as she fights them off despite her clear exhaustion. It's fascinating really. She's run out of ammo. All she has is her Militia issued dagger, which looks like it was dyed red. It's clear she's already killed a few Raiders with it. I watch her wield the blade expertly.

She dodges their attack so easily that they become frustrated and sloppy, which she uses to her advantage. The bigger of the two lunges for her with his own knife. She dodges effortlessly, almost lazily to the side. Where her head once was she extends her knife's edge and drags it across the Raider's throat. She pulls her arm back in and the man drops to his knees. The second Raider moves to tackle her while she's distracted. I see her shift her weight to address his attack, but he's too fast. Using as much momentum as she can, she throws her arms out to try and keep him from toppling her.

That's when I notice that the first attacker is still alive. Barely. He's laying on his back and has one hand pressed tightly against his neck to slow the bleeding. With the other, he reaches for a pistol partially buried underneath one of his fallen Raiders. Whether or not there are any bullets left doesn't matter. He's a Raider; he will kill if he can.

He pulls the gun free and lifts it, aiming at the girl from where he is laying on the ground. I frown. It'd be a shame to see her go down after all that.

His hand is shaking and he tries to steady it with his other hand. I rush up beside him and step on his wrist, pinning it to the ground. I dig my heel into his skin. He releases the gun, wincing in pain, but unable to call out. I reach down and scoop up the pistol, continuing my way towards the girl.

Another fallen Raider tries to scramble to his feet after me. I point the pistol and shoot. The Raider falls back towards the ground. Huh. Guess it wasn't empty after all.

I motion for the rest of the group to spread out and within seconds we have the survivors surrounded. We haven't even formed up completely before the girl manages to end the life of the last Raider in front of her. Without a moment's pause over the man she's just killed, she spins towards me, the blade of her knife balanced between the ball of her thumb and forefinger. Ready to let it fly. But I have both hands full of pistols, trained directly on her. She pauses.

Her green eyes meet mine. And for a moment, there is nothing but me and her. A showdown between guns and blades. I can't help the small smirk tugging the side of the lips. "You might wanna drop that," I suggest.

She glances out of the corners of her eyes and sees her remaining comrades dropping their own weapons finally noticing they are surrounded. Her eyes lock on me again. I can tell she's seriously considering throwing the knife anyway. I arch an eyebrow, knowing she can see it despite my sunglasses.

A moment passes.

I can barely hear the swear fall from her lips as she drops the blade to the dirt beneath her feet. She wraps both hands behind her head in surrender.

* * *

**QUINN'S POV**

The midday sun is blinding. I have to squint to look up them. At her. My knees are digging into the dirt and my fingers are laced behind my neck. The rest of my group is positioned the same way as they figure out what to do with us.

Four. There are only four of us left here.

But I saw these townspeople rush two of us away into this town during the middle of the fight. Wounded. Hopefully taken to whatever passes for a town doctor here, but who knows. And quite frankly, I'm not sure it matters much. From the gathering of guns pointed all around us and the hostile looks we are getting from the townspeople, I'm not sure any of us are going to survive long-term anyway.

The one who hauled me in with a gun against the back of my head stands just far enough away from us. Out of my reach. Her arms are crossed and she's talking to the meathead with the mohawk. They're arguing in low tones about what to do with us. It annoys me that they didn't have this figured out before now.

A minute later, Mohawk is walking towards us. He has plastic ties in his hands. Fantastic. He goes down the line, tying our hands behind us. When he gets to me, he jerks my hands from atop my head and twists my arms behind my back, bringing my hands together and slapping the plastic restraints around my wrists and pulling them forcefully.

He leans in close from behind. "Is that too tight?"

"A little," I admit.

I imagine him sneering behind me. "Good."

He pulls the binds tighter and I feel as if they are going to cut through my skin. He walks in front of me and I lift my eyes to his. He's smirking. "Thanks," I tell him through clenched teeth.

The silence that stretches across the town is deafening. I'm half expecting a public execution here and now.

Instead, the shadow of my captor falls over me, blocking out the sun. I don't have to squint to see her now. She's young. Mid-twenties maybe. Her brown pants and tan shirt are very flattering for her figure. Despite the midday heat, she's wearing long sleeved shirt and heavy black boots. Her hair is pulled back and she has dark sunglasses covering her eyes. Her pistols are holstered at her thighs and a shotgun peeks out from over her shoulder. She's stands with confidence bordering arrogance and every bit intimidating. But there's something intriguing about her.

I wonder how many other weapons she has stashed away on her body…

Her arms stay crossed as she looks us over. All eyes are on her. It's pretty clear that she's calling the shots around here. No pun intended.

We wait for her to decide our fate. Everyone is holding still, holding their breath, as they wait for her to speak, to give some sort of instruction. Only, she never does.

Instead, it's one of my own that breaks the freighting silence. "Killing a member of the Militia is punishable by death," he spits out. Sebastian. He never was one to keep his mouth shut.

I watch their leader carefully, curious about her response. She turns to look at the outspoken prisoner. She regards him carefully. "We didn't kill your colleagues. The Raiders did," she finally says.

"You left us there to die," he says through clenched teeth.

A small smile dawns on her lips. "On the contrary. We saved you."

"Tying us up and holding us hostage -"

"Is not punishable by death," she interrupts. "As long as we treat you humanely and give you food and quarter, there is nothing in your law that states we are to be punished."

She's right. And I'm impressed. Not many people outside of the Militia recognize our law. So many people have died because they refuse to learn and obey the new laws spreading across the land. I don't have to look at Sebastian to know he's seething. Nothing gets under his skin more than being proven wrong. And, as predicted, he opens his mouth again. "Not yet. But when the commander hears about this you _will_ die."

"Shut up, Sebastian." I look at Sam next to me. His shaggy blonde hair is hanging in his eyes. It looks orange from all the blood smeared on his forehead. He looks exhausted. I frown. I didn't know he was that hurt.

"Don't tell me to shut up," Sebastian snaps back.

Mohawk and their leader exchange amused glances. This is clearly what they want from us; for us to disagree and turn against each other.

"They will find us and they will kill you all," Sebastian continues.

Enough. "Sebastian," I hiss. "Be quiet."

Their leader looks at me. With her sunglasses covering her eyes it's hard to read her expression. "Separate them," she says finally. "Make sure our guests are comfortable. They're gonna be around for a while."

Mohawk grabs my arms and lifts. "On your feet."

"Mike," the woman says and nods towards Sebastian.

The Sniper leans down and hauls Sebastian to his feet. "Let's go," he says, giving him a hard tug. Sebastian turns around and head butts him in the face, making Mike cry out and stumble backwards, reaching for his nose.

Sam looks at me and I shake my head. If Sebastian wants to get himself killed, then so be it. But I'm not making more trouble for us by interfering.

Before Sebastian has a chance at another move, someone else steps forward and jams the barrel of a rifle against his stomach. "Blaine!" someone calls out worriedly.

Guns are drawn and Sebastian is suddenly surrounded by several angry people, including their bleeding sniper. I glance at the leader. She hasn't moved except to uncross her arms and rest her hand on the hilt of one of her holstered pistols.

Blaine (I'm guessing from the worried screech of the baby-faced man watching frantically from beside him) squints at Sebastian and shoves his rifle deeper into his stomach. "You've got to ask yourself one question: 'Do I feel lucky?' Well, do ya, punk?"

"Seriously?" Sebastian says narrowing his eyes at Blaine. The rifle gets shoved further into his stomach.

Sebastian stops struggling and turns and looks at me. I stare back but say and do nothing. He curls his lip at me and allows himself to be pulled away.

I look back at the leader who is still watching me, hand draped over her firearm. She looks at Mohawk behind me and nods. He grabs my arms roughly and pushes me forward.

I don't take my eyes off of her as I'm led down the streets.

We stop at an old looking building and Mohawk unlocks the door and pushes it open, leading me inside. The room is dark and I can't see much of anything. Apparently Mohawk can see in the dark because he deftly leads me further into the room and directs me to sit down on a squeaky cot on the far wall. I sit as best as I can with my hands behind my back and I hear him pulling on thick, metal chains.

Next thing I know, a metal band is closed tightly around my ankle. I give it a tug, testing out my new confines.

"Don't waste your energy," he tells me. "You're not going anywhere."

I can vaguely see him walk away and light a lantern across the room. I look down at the pillow-less cot and sigh. I manage to lie down on my side and I close my eyes. If I'm not leaving, I might as well get some rest.

* * *

When I come to, it takes my eyes some time to adjust. The room is still dark and almost near suffocating hot. I swing my feet off the bed and push myself to a sitting position. I rub the crick out of the back of my neck.

My gesture stops suddenly when I realize my wrists have been freed of their binds. Curiously, I give my leg a tug. My ankle however, is still bound to a chain attached to the floor. I frown when I notice my jacket has been removed. I glance around for my uniform jacket but I don't see it anywhere near the bed. "Shit," I murmur to myself. I must've really been exhausted not to notice my wrist restraints and jacket being removed.

I run my hand through my messy hair and push it out of my face, when something out of the corner of my eye catches my attention. Several feet away from the cot are a sandwich and a glass of water resting neatly on top of a tray. The condensation on the cup tells me the ice is just about melted, but it hasn't been sitting there long.

That's when I feel it. I'm not alone. And it's not Mohawk perched near the entrance. "You've got a rather large room for just one person," I say as casually as I can, turning to my left to see her. She doesn't answer. She doesn't even look at me. Instead, she continues to polish the barrel of her sawed off shotgun.

I watch her. She's sitting atop a metal desk, one leg dangling off the side and the other foot propped up on the arm of the desk chair. Her gun is resting on her thigh as she concentrates; a toothpick rests loosely between her teeth.

I drag my eyes down her profile. Her sunglasses are dangling casually in the V of her shirt. She's shed the long sleeved top and is now wearing something lighter, tan and without sleeves. My eyes trail down her arms and land on a tattoo on her forearm: a black box with three black, vertical lines in the middle. My eyes lift back to her face. Not only is she part of the Rebellion, she's obviously _proudly_ part of it. Most people hide their allegiance. They mark themselves on a part of their body easily covered up. But not her. Her tattoo is purposely displayed. And now, I know she wants me to see it.

With that kind of allegiance, I'm even more surprised she didn't kill us on the spot.

But her decisions so far speak volumes of the type of solider she is. Despite showing off the tattoo like a giant bull's-eye, she's clearly not dumb. Separating us was a good idea. So was not leaving us unattended. I look down at the tray, at the sandwich and water. Better than nothing.

"How long?" she asks simply and suddenly. I bring my eyes back to her face. She causally lays her shotgun across her other thigh, pointing it straight at me, looking down at the weapon. "How long until the rest of your battalion gets here?"

I see no point in lying, so I shrug casually. "There is no battalion." Not anywhere close to here anyway. We weren't meant to engage, just to scout. I'm pretty sure she knows that, too.

She looks at me curiously. It's the first time I've seen her eyes. Even from here I can tell they are holding something back. It's almost an amused hatred. Like she's toying with me. "A company then," she says with a small smile.

I clench my teeth. Despite her being correct, I'm actually a little insulted she thinks so little of the Militia that she wouldn't expect more numbers from us. But even with the little sleep I managed to get, I'm still exhausted. I have no energy for this kind of banter. I choose not to respond.

"You're a pretty skilled fighter. And your men seem to listen to you. Well, most of them anyway," she snickers. Clearly she found Sebastian's outbursts amusing. Not that I can blame her. He never learned to keep his mouth shut. "So I got to thinking, what's a Sergeant doing way out here?"My eyes stay locked on hers, giving nothing away. "Then I see this." She holds up my jacket and looks down at the rankings sewed on neatly on the shoulder. "Not a Sergeant but a Lieutenant? This far west? Surely something major is happening. I mean, why else would a Lieutenant come with a scouting party?" The sarcasm is dripping in her words.

Not that she's wrong…

I look down at the gun in her lap and then back to her eyes. "Mind pointing that someplace else? I don't appreciate gun barrels aimed at my face in the middle of a conversation."

She looks at the gun as if she's surprised to see it pointing in my direction so casually. "Oh this?" She picks it up and pulls back the action bar. "It's not loaded." She bends the barrels forward and shows me the empty chamber.

The hint of the smile on her lips is infuriating. I want nothing more than to slap it off her face. I stand and walk towards her, as far as my restraints will allow. She watches me in amusement. I stop when I feel a slight tug around my ankle. I'm only a few feet away from her now. She remains perched on the desk, unmoving. I cross my arms over my chest and nod towards her tattoo. "You're part of the Rebellion."

She shakes her head and smirks. "I'm not a part of anything."

"Which would explain why you let those Raiders slaughter us."

She shrugs. "Wasn't my fight."

The way she says it, so… blasé…

It infuriates me.

I take a forceful step towards her, the chain pulling at my leg and keeping me from advancing any further. "Then why are we _here?_"

She arches an eyebrow at my sudden movement. "Well I couldn't let you walk away now could I?" She runs her eyes up and down my body slowly. "By the looks of it, you would all be picked off before nightfall. What's the humanity in that?"

I can't help it. I laugh. It's bitter and humorless and I barely recognize it as my own. "So you're really just saving our lives, is that it? Our savior? We should be grateful to you? Thanking you?"

She thinks about it for a second and shrugs, nodding her head. "Pretty much."

I clench my fists at my side. "Those men you let die? They were my friends."

She drops both feet on the floor and stands from the desk. "Maybe you should choose your friends more wisely," she says and turns towards the door.

I throw my hands up in the air, frustrated. "What the hell is your problem? We did nothing to you! We are _not_ your enemy!"

She spins around to face me and takes five quick steps in my direction until she's almost pressed against me. She's close enough that I can smell her clean, recently washed scent. Close enough that I can see the spark of hatred in her eyes. "Is that why you let that village burn? Is that why you let them die?" she asks dangerously.

She's so close I could reach out and strike her. "We didn't _let_ them do anything," I tell her instead.

"Right," she scoffs. She drags her eyes down my body slowly before turning and walking towards the door, her shotgun resting easily across her shoulder.

"Sebastian was right, you know," I say to her back. She reaches out for the door handle but comes to a halt. "They'll send more men. If we don't return, they'll come looking for us. And not a scouting party either. It'll be that battalion you were so worried about. And when they find us? And they _will _find us. They'll burn your precious little town to the ground."

Her brown eyes bear into mine, unwavering. She licks her lips and lets her gaze drag slowly across my face and back up to my eyes. "Then you had better hope you're not in it," she says gravely. She turns away and opens the door, walking through without turning around. She closes the door quietly behind her and locking it.

I want to scream in frustration.

I wanted to help those people in that town. I wanted to stop the Raiders from burning it to the ground.

Instead, I put my men first and led them away, and leading them all to their deaths. And those that survived? Who knows what will happen to us here.

I run my hand through my hair, annoyed and exhausted and irritated. I want to rip the chain from my ankle and leave this god forsaken town and leave the mission I was sent on.

But right now, more than anything else, I want to know:

Who the hell _is _this woman?


	4. Chapter 4

**SANTANA'S POV**

_I walk out of the house after helping mom clean up after lunch and notice the door to my father's work shed is open. I smile. If it's open it means I can go in. I make my way through the damp grass and peek inside at my father stirring a small container of black liquid. Will is with him, burning the ends of needles in the flames of a small fire in the fireplace. Curiously, I step inside the shed. "What are you doing, Uncle Will?"_

_He turns around and smiles when he sees me. "Hey there, kiddo." He ushers me further inside. "I'm re-touching your father's tattoo. Sometimes in the sun it gets a little faded."_

_I look at the matching tattoos on both Will and my father's forearm. I lift my arm and look down at my unmarked skin and frown. "When will I get my own tattoo?"_

_"When you're older," Will says with a smile. "Much older."_

_"You are still too young," my father says._

_"Nine isn't young!" I protest. Both Will and my father laugh. I don't understand why the Rebellion picked such a lame symbol anyway. It's just a box with lines," I pout._

_My father spins around from the work bench, his eyebrows high on his forehead. "It's much more than a box with lines, mija. It stands for something important. Something significant."_

_I glance at Will who just shakes his head and turns back to the needles. I must've really stirred the hornets' nest with that comment._

_My father puts aside the ink and steps towards me with a gleam in his eye. "The Militia is trying to change the way we live. They are trying to dictate who we are and what we do with their ridiculous laws. But we are free people, mija! Able to make choices and live the way we want to live. They are trying to take that from us!" _

_I scrunch up my face in confusion. "But my books say that laws are put in place for the people's best interest. To keep them from being unruly and doing horrible things." Suddenly a thought hits me. I look up at my father worriedly. "Is that what we are? Are we unruly for not wanting laws?"_

_My father shakes his head. "You and your books. It's much more than that. We aren't fighting against laws in general; we are fighting against _their_ laws. Who are these people to demand that we fall in line with their wishes or else we die? Who are these people to decide what is best for every town across the country? And what is best for every single individual without consulting us first? Who are these people to decide that they are better than the rest of us and we should all just fall in line behind them?" He gets louder with every sentence. I notice Will grinning as he continues to prepare his equipment. "Do you know who put these people in charge?" I turn back to my father and shake my head. "They did! Not us. Not the common people, but their own kind. This is no democracy! It's an Oligarchy! It's Fascism!"_

_"An Oligarchy?" I've never heard the word before._

_"You see," he says and gets down on one knee and moves in close so that I can see his tattoo better. "This box represents the United States as one whole Nation. The three lines represent the old United States: Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness." He traces each line with his finger as he tells me what they signify. "Our unalienable rights given to each human being." He reaches out and rests his hands on my shoulders with a smile. "You see? It's more than a tattoo. It represents so much more than fighting the Militia. It represents what we are fighting _for._ One day we will have that again." _

_"Even the Raiders?" I ask seriously. Because really, I'm not sure the Raiders are much better than the Militia._

_My dad has to pause and think about that one. "Well, no, maybe not them." _

_Will laughs. _

_My dad winks at me and ruffles my hair as he stands and walks back to Will for his touch-up._

_Sometimes I wonder if my father knows exactly what it is he's talking about. It's all so confusing. Maybe one day, when I understand they'll let me have a tattoo just like theirs._

* * *

I swirl the remainder of the dark liquid around in the bottom of my glass as I stare at the dark lines of the tattoo on my forearm. Despite the years it's marked my skin, the dark ink has yet to fade. In fact, it appears darker than ever before.

I wonder when I stopped giving a shit about the Rebellion.

I look down at the grey uniform jacket draped across the table. My eyes fall on the name on the collar. **Q. Fabray.** Watching her fight, I knew there was something different about her. I knew she wasn't a normal Militia soldier. She was special. She was important. I just never thought she'd be _that_ important. And I don't just mean because she's a Lieutenant.

It wasn't until I freed her of her restraints and rid her of her jacket that I saw it. That I realized what was happening. And by that time, it was too late. They were already confined within our walls.

I close my eyes and think very carefully about what needs to be done now. I've been running through every scenario. Every possible choice. But I don't like any of them. There has to be a solution I'm missing. One important piece of the puzzle. I know it will come to me in time; it always does.

Unfortunately, time is one thing I fear we don't have enough of.

"Okay guys, walk home safe!" Rachel chirps from the doorway. She offers the last of the tavern visitors a wave and then closes the door behind them. She bolts the old door and comes to sit next to me at my darkened corner table. She pours me a large glass of cold water and places it in front of me. "You've been over here for hours. Are you okay?"

I knock back the rest of my drink and reach for the bottle of whiskey, ignoring the subtle hint to drink the water instead. "Never better," I tell her.

"Santana," she sighs. "What are you doing?"

"I'm pouring myself a drink," I tell her.

"That's not what I mean." I know it isn't. But I choose not to answer the question anyway. Not that that stops Rachel from pressing the issue. "I meant, why did you spare their lives? Why did you bring them here?"

I lean back in the chair and examine the full glass I've poured. "I told you before. To get some answers."

"To get answers for what?"

"Rach," I say, bringing my hand up to rub at my brow. I can already feel the headache coming on.

She holds up her hand and shakes her head. Clearly she's not finished. "I know what you said. I know you told me Will warned you they were coming and you want to know what they're up to this far west. I know that killing them is punishable by death. I understand that. But that _doesn't_ mean you bring them into our town and feed them, Santana. You could've just as easily held a gun to their heads out there, outside of the gates, and made them talk before sending them on their merry little way or whatever. Instead, they're chained up in our buildings, eating our food." She rests her arms on the table and leans in towards me. "So I'm asking you: What are they doing here?"

I look at her, careful to remain expressionless. I bring the glass to my lips and take a long swig.

Rachel sets her jaw, but her expression softens slightly as she studies my face. "Does this have anything to do with revenge for your father?"

I grip the glass tightly in my hand and take another sip. "I had my revenge."

Her eyes don't waver from mine, challenging me and refusing to back down. "Have you?"

"You have no idea what you're talking about," I murmur.

Rachel arches an eyebrow, offended. "I know what you've told me."

I look towards the Militia jacket, at the name embroidered in black lettering. "I haven't told you anything." I bring my eyes back to Rachel and shake my head. "You have no idea what it's like out there. Or what's going on here and now."

Rachel crosses her arms over her chest. Her eyes dare me to tell her what she knows I've sheltered her from. "Then why don't you stop being cryptic and tell me."

"This isn't up for discussion," I tell her sharply.

I can tell that she could care less about my warning as she takes a deep breath to try again. Lucky for her, the rear saloon door opens and Puck strolls noisily inside. He practically throws his rifle down on the table as he drops down into the empty chair next to Rachel. Lucky for him, Rachel is too busy staring me down to reprimand him for placing his weapon on top of a place meant for eating.

"That guy will not _shut up_," Puck groans and reaches for the full glass of water in front of me. "'We'll burn down your village, we'll kill you all, do you know who I am?' Blah blah blah." He downs half the glass in one long gulp and then looks to me, taking a deep breath. "What about you? Did yours talk?"

"Who? Q? Oh, she talked. But she sure as hell didn't say anything," I snort.

Puck arches an eyebrow. "Q?"

I reach for the jacket and show them the collar. "It's embroidered on her uniform."

Rachel narrows her eyes at me, her arms still crossed. She is _not_ happy. "And why do you have her uniform?" she asks accusingly.

The back door opens again and Mike walks in, pulling his rifle strap off his shoulder as he heads over. He props it gently against a wall beside the table and then proceeds to fall into the last empty seat next to me. "I just came from the infirmary," he says with a weary sigh.

"How's Tina?" Rachel asks, turning her attention away from me. Can't say I'm not relived.

"One of them is still in pretty bad shape, the other one didn't make it," he says, shaking his head and reaching for the bottle of whiskey.

"When?" Puck asks curiously.

"About a half-hour ago. I put him outside with the others," Mike answers.

"How did clean up go?" I ask. I feel a little guilty I didn't help with any of it. But I know Mike could handle it on his own.

Mike knocks back a shot of whiskey straight from the bottle, making Rachel roll her eyes and get up from the table to get him a glass. "We burned most of the bodies. Their weapons and supplies are in a crate outside if you want to go through it. There are still a few bodies left to burn. We need to build a new pyre."

"Militia?" Puck wonders aloud.

"Yes," Mike says with a nod. "All the Raiders have been taken care of."

"Please tell me you washed up before coming in here," Rachel sighs as she places a glass in front of Mike. Her nose is wrinkled in disgust as she sits back down at the table.

Mike nods. I ignore her, bringing the conversation back to the subject at hand. "Hold off on burning the rest of the bodies tonight. We'll do it tomorrow morning."

"Why?" Puck asks, confused. "Let's just get it over and done with."

"It's been a long day. We'll finish it tomorrow," I say firmly. No one says anything further. I reach for my glass of whiskey and knock back the rest of the glass. "Get something to eat and drink and then go home and sleep."

I push back my chair and stand, reaching for uniform jacket. Rachel eyes me suspiciously. "What are you going to do?" She asks.

"I'm going to go visit Tina and make sure she goes home for the night." I run my hand through my hair, exhausted. "And then I might get some sleep. I suggest you all do the same."

I know they want to say more. Puck and Mike want to know what's going on just as much as Rachel does. But unlike Rachel, they don't ask. Instead, they just nod and turn to pour themselves something to drink. Rachel gives me one final look before I turn and leave. I'm fairly positive that won't be the last I hear from her on the previous subject.

I make my way down the streets under a cold, blue wash of moonlight. I nod at the one or two people I pass and notice the tired expressions on their faces. I dimly wonder if I look the same to them. Can't say I don't feel it.

I turn towards a small house in the middle of the town and walk up the short path to a tiny little porch. I take both stairs in one step and open the front door. "Hey," I call out quietly as I step inside what passes for our town's infirmary.

Tina turns her head towards me and nods. "Hey."

I look around at the half-dozen beds in the open space and see only one occupied. Tina is sitting down behind a desk, busily mixing vials and sorting pill bottles and sterilizing whatever it is she must've been using earlier in the day. "Mike said you've had a rough day," I say and sit in the chair across from her.

She doesn't answer me for a long time. I watch as she crushes some kind of powder into a small bowl. She's rough, pressing down on the tablets hard and angrily. "It's just been awhile since I couldn't save someone," she admits finally. "Even if they were Militia."

I sigh. I can't remember the last time Tina had to work on someone as critically wounded as the men we brought in earlier. "Tina, it was a long shot. And you did your best."

"I just… maybe if I had the right supplies…"

"You did your best," I restate firmly. She glances up at me and nods. I give her a small, reassuring smile and look back over my shoulder at the single man lying motionless on a cot across the room. I don't see the blonde guy with the minor head wound. "How's the other one?" I ask, turning back to Tina. "The one with the blonde shaggy hair?"

Tina sighs and stops crushing the tablets and reaches for a glass of water to pour over the powder in the pestle. "He's fine. Demanded to know where we were keeping Quinn. I'm assuming that's the girl?" She glances up at me and then stands and walks over to the small flame dwindling in the brick fireplace. Carefully, she pours her concoction from the pestle into a small, cast iron bowl that hangs by chicken wire over the flames. "He threatened that if we touched one hair on her head he was going to rip us apart with his bare hands. He said it real slow and serious too. It was kind of creepy. Think there's something going on between them?"

"And this guy?" I ask, motioning behind me, ignoring her attempt of gossip. Tina looks over to the man in the bed and then looks back at me with a solemn expression and shakes her head. Yeah, that's what I figured. "Go home. Get cleaned up. Get some sleep." She glances at the fireplace with a frown. "I'll stay and watch him."

"Santana, I don't think he's…"

"I'll stay with him," I repeat. "Please. I need you rested. You and Mike both."

She sighs in resignation. "Okay. But I'll be back first thing in the morning," she says, wiping her hands on her pants.

"Deal."

Tina looks down at the concoction starting to simmer over the fire and then back at me. "Do you remember how to make this into liquid form?"

"Morphine?" I ask. She arches a brow, challenging me. I nod my head. "I remember."

She continues as though I hadn't answered. "Leave it over the flame for five minutes, then strain it through - "

"I remember," I promise. It was one of the first things I learned to do when I first met Tina. Back then, it had been a necessity that I learned how to make it; Tina had been too busy to make and then inject me with the narcotic, which I had needed every few hours. Thanks to my being a pretty quick learner and the indescribable pain I had gone through, I picked up on the process in no time. It's just been awhile since I've had to work with it.

She smiles at me softly. "Of course you do." She walks over to me and I reach out and pull her close, holding her against me for a brief embrace. "You're an encyclopedia of knowledge," she mumbles against my shoulder.

I chuckle and squeeze her tightly, "You were a good teacher."

"You were in pain. You would've done anything I told you," she counters.

"True," I agree.

Tina pulls away first and offers me a grateful smile.

She looks over at the patient one more time and then forces herself to head home for the remainder of the night. I make my way over to the fireplace and look down at the boiling liquid.

I reach inside my back pocket and pull out my music player. I unwind the chord wrapped tightly around the player and stick the ear pieces in my ears. I turn it on and press play, spinning the volume until all I hear is the simple melody and hypnotizing rhythm of the drums.

Slipping the slender player into my back pocket, I make my way over to Tina's desk and grab the strainer she'd been sterilizing. I carry it over to the fire and give once last glance back at the lone patient before turning to continue the work Tina started.

* * *

The building is somehow still dark, despite it being well after sunrise. The wood planks that sloppily cover the windows leak in a few rays of light like a sieve. It casts the entire house in an eerie gloom. I unlock the door and nod at the guard standing out front. "Has she been out?" I ask.

He nods. "Yeah, but she didn't do much. Just stared up at the sun and kicked a few rocks."

"What did you expect her do?" I ask him. He shrugs. With a sigh I change the subject. "Did you give her fresh water to bathe?"

He shrugs again. "She hasn't done that either."

I can't help but chuckle. "Well, not in front of you. Which is why you're standing out here. To give her a little bit of privacy."

"They're Militia. They don't need privacy," he counters.

I put my hand on his shoulder and give him a small smile. He's tense. Can't say I blame him. It's the first time many of these people have had an encounter with the Militia. He relaxes a little and I pat his shoulder before turning to unlock the door.

When I step inside, I squint my eyes into even greater darkness, waiting for them to adjust. It doesn't take long to spot her. She's standing near the column next to her bed, leaning against it with her arms crossed casually.

I close the door quietly behind me, the light flooding in disappearing.

She looks up at me, indifferent. "Here to torture me?" She says slowly.

I'm not surprised she thinks that. But I _am_ surprised to hear her voice it out loud so casually. It makes me smile. "Now why would I do that?"

She shrugs her shoulders. "I don't know. Because you're bored?"

I chuckle and shake my head. I walk further into the room and hold up the bowl I've been carrying. "As tempting as that might sound, I'm just here to deliver breakfast."

Her eyes lower to the bowl in my hand. She peers down at the oatmeal and makes a disgusted face. "How do I know you didn't mix in some sort of poison?"

"Not my style," I tell her and continue to hold out the bowl.

She takes it from my hand with a sigh. Our fingers brush together and I stare at her face. Her eyes flick up to meet mine and she yanks her hand away quickly. Her eyes linger on mine however, and I notice they're no longer green. They're darker, hazel.

We watch each other for a moment, both unsure.

I also notice that her face is clean. So is her neck. I was right. She did take the opportunity alone to clean herself. "I'll have someone bring you some more water for washing."

Her expression changes. A hint of a smile tugs at the side of her mouth. "You know what I'd really like?" I arch an eyebrow. "A bar of soap and that lake of yours. A small cloth and a bowl of cold water doesn't really do much to get someone clean, you know?"

I can feel myself smiling. "Like you wouldn't swim away."

She narrows her eyes; apparently she doesn't find this as amusing as I do. "Like your sniper wouldn't hesitate to put a hole in my head." She walks towards the bed and sits, a frown on her face as she stares at the oatmeal.

I watch her closely. "You know I'm curious about something."

"Here we go," she sighs. It's dark as hell but I'm pretty sure I just saw her roll her eyes.

I would be insulted if I wasn't so amused. I cross my arms and begin lean my shoulder against the column she just departed from. "What's with that Sebastian?" She arches a brow. "Does he ever stop talking?"

She looks down at the oatmeal and stirs it slowly with the spoon, probably trying to figure out if she's hungry enough to attempt to eat it. "Not really," she answers.

"He sure is making a lot of threats," I continue.

She snorts, un-amused. "I have no doubt. He thinks he's much more important than he actually is." She places the bowl next to her on the bed and looks up at me with an accusing stare. "My turn." After a beat, I nod. I guess It's only fair. "What's a Rebel doing hiding in a quaint little town like this?"

"I'm retired," I say, deadpan.

A small, humorless smile graces her lips. "Somehow I really don't believe that."

"You ask too many questions, Q." The nickname gets her attention like I thought it might. Her eyebrows raise and the surprise is evident. "It was on your jacket," I elaborate. "But it's Quinn though, right? That's your name?" Her expression is priceless. It goes from shocked to nervous to indifferent so quickly that if I had blinked I would've missed it. It's clear she doesn't like me knowing something so personal about her.

Her eyes never leave mine. "Am I ever going to get your name? It's only fair seeing as though you know mine. Not to mention you're my _hostess _and all."

"Santana," I oblige. She looks immediately surprised that I told her. "All you had to do was ask, Q," I tease.

Quinn tilts her head to the side curiously. "Why are you really keeping us here, Santana? I have a feeling it isn't just to play nice and bring me breakfast."

I want to tell her I know who she is. I want to tell her that it'd be suicide to just let her leave. I want to tell her she and her friends would be killed within a day if they were released. I want to tell her that she's too interesting to let go of. But instead: "Your men didn't make it." Her expression changes once again as she understands what I've just told her. She looks upset. And then pissed off. "The two in the infirmary," I tell her, deciding the bigger conversation can wait.

She clenches her jaw. "When?"

"Last night."

Her look is hard. She tugs a little at the chain around her ankle. She glances down at the distance between us and I know she's contemplating whether or not she can close the distance between us. Her eyes lift back to mine. Her body is tense. "And the others? The others who came in with me?"

"They're fine," I say evenly. Quinn stares at me for another moment before finally relaxing her body just enough to where I know she isn't going to attack me. "We're setting up a burial pyre for them along with the others who were killed."

Her eyes narrow. "Why? Why would you do that?"

I shrug my shoulders. "Everyone deserves a decent burial." Simple as that.

We watch each other. I know she's deciding whether or not I'm full of shit or being genuine. I can't say I blame her. I wouldn't trust me either. I sure as shit don't trust her.

A moment passes and I realize there's nothing left to say. I push myself off of the column and nod towards the bowl on her bed. "Eat up. I'll come get you when we're ready."

She watches me leave the building without saying a word.

* * *

**QUINN'S POV**

I'm not sure when Santana is supposed to come and get me. I'm not even sure what time of day it is. Time seems to stop when you're chained up with nothing but your thoughts. I figure it has to be close to midday; the light is pouring in from the cracks in the boarded up windows and it's definitely getting warmer in here.

True to her word, a fresh bowl of cold water was brought in not long after she left, with a clean cloth… but still no soap. With a sigh, I run the washcloth up and down my bare arms and across the back of my neck to cool off.

I've been doing this off and on all morning; washing my face, keeping the cloth across the back of my neck. It's the closest thing to comfort I'm going to get. And I'll take it for as long as it's offered.

I just can't figure her out. She hasn't interrogated me yet and I'm not sure she's interrogated my friends either. We're just here. Trapped. With food and a wash-bin. And now she's giving the rest of my men a funeral? The only way I figure? She's trying to get in our heads. Treat us decent enough where we don't feel threatened by her before she turns the tables suddenly and changes tactics. You know, right when we get comfortable. Poisoning might not be her style, but the whole mind game thing certainly seems like it might be.

The next time the door opens, it's not Santana, or the guard stationed outside of my door. It's Mohawk. I groan. Just the sight of him makes me nauseous.

I toss the washcloth back into the cool water and turn to face him.

He strolls in casually and stops in front of me, dangling a key in front of my face. The door remains wide open behind him. "Sit."

I glance behind him at the door and then back at the key to the restraint around my ankle. "I'd prefer to stand."

The arrogant smirk fades and he leans in close. "I'd prefer if you weren't leaving this room at all, or speaking to me. In fact, I wish you weren't even here. But I need to switch up your restraints. So sit the fuck down."

It would be so easy to reach out, drive my elbow into his nose and strip the key to my ankle chain off of him while he's out cold. Impossibly easy, really. I look him in the eyes and clench my fists by my side, running as many scenarios and outcomes in my head as I can. Several long seconds pass until I finally relax and roll my eyes in boredom. "Well, since you asked so nicely," I say finally and sit back on the cot.

Despite how easy, and fun, it would be to lay him out flat, at the end of the run I know I'd never make it past a street or two. That Sniper is guaranteed to be out at his post along with every other armed person I'd pass along the way.

"Hold out your hands," he demands the second my butt hits the cot. I consent. "If you even think about making a run for it, I'll gladly put a hole in your head so fast you won't even remember being alive."

I arch a brow. "I'd be dead. How could I remember anything?"

He snaps the restraints over my wrists and pulls tightly. "Exactly."

I roll my eyes. He really isn't the sharpest knife in the drawer. He tugs on the plastic wrist restraints and moves down to unlock my ankle restraints. I actually laugh out loud when I catch him cautiously look at me not once, not twice but three times to be sure I'm not going to make a move.

A second later, I am no longer restrained to the ground.

Images of kneeing him in the face, just for the hell of it, flash inside my mind. But again, I refrain from temptation.

He backs away and I stand, twisting my ankle in slow circles.

"Come on," Mohawk says and gives me a shove towards the open door. I squint as I step outside. The afternoon light is intense and my eyes aren't used to it. I bring my hands up to shield my eyes and squint as best I can to try and acclimate quickly. It feels like an eternity later, but eventually I can make out basic shapes along the street I'm being marched down. I finally notice Sebastian, Sam and Jesse a little ways in front of me. Then I notice the four different captors flanking them; one for Sam, one for Jesse and two for Sebastian.

I feel a wave of relief wash over me seeing them alive.

Sam notices me and raises his bound hands, trying to get my attention. "Quinn!" Sam glances at his guard - I think I remember him as Blaine - and picks up the pace, walking over to me. Surprisingly, Blaine allows this, but remains close behind Sam, his pistol leveled at his back.

It's so good to see him. "Are you hurt?" I ask, reaching out to try and push away the hair from his forehead.

"No touching!" Mohawk snaps, yanking me back from Sam.

Sam shoots Mohawk a look and then turns back to me, worriedly. "I'm okay. Are you okay? Did they hurt you? I swear to God, Quinn, if they hurt you…"

Suddenly, Santana is there between us. I never noticed her approach. She glances from me to Sam and arches a brow curiously. "You might need these," she says as she holds out our own sunglasses for us to take. Nice to know they didn't burn our stuff.

Sam looks at me unsure. I look towards Santana, who looks to be studying me. It's hard to read her expression behind her own mirrored sunglasses. I catch my reflection in the lenses and wince; I look like hell.

Slowly, I reach out and take the sunglasses, putting them over my eyes without breaking eye contact with. She turns to Sam and holds his own pair out. Sam takes his, equally as cautious but anxious to block out the light. Santana waits until he has them on and then, without another word, turns and walks towards the gate.

We both watch her walk away. "What the hell was that all about?" Sam asks, confused but careful to keep his voice low.

"She's trying to figure us out," I tell him, watching her exit through the town gate. Just what it is she's trying to figure out I still don't know.

"You ready, Blaine?" Mohawk asks over my shoulder.

"Open the pod bay doors, HAL," Blaine says with a smile and nod.

Sam looks at me. I shrug. "This place gets weirder and weirder," he whispers.

"Move it, blondie," Mohawk says, shoving his rifle into my back and prodding me to follow after Santana.

I look back and see Jesse and Sebastian aren't far behind as we're led down a winding path, away from the town and far away from the walls. It isn't too long before I see a large pyre, with the bodies of my fallen comrades on top, still dressed in their uniforms. I swallow roughly.

Looking around briefly, I can tell there aren't any signs of the Raiders. There's a blackened pyre down the path. They must've burned them down there yesterday.

Gathered around the pyre are Santana and several other town members, all armed to the teeth. One of them holds a large, lit torch. Santana turns her head and looks right at me. I turn away and look at the pyre instead. I grind my teeth and swallow all my emotion. I'll be damned if I'll let them see me as anything but indifferent. And I know they're watching. All of them.

I wonder if that's why we're here. Not because it's a decent thing to do, but because they want to show us how much power they have. They want us to be emotional and weak.

"Anyone want to say anything?" Mohawk asks insincerely. I can feel everyone's eyes on me. I can feel Santana's eyes on me. I don't look away from the pyre as I shake my head no.

Santana nods and motions for the pyre to be lit. After an agonizing wait, the flames begin to burn high and strong as my fallen friends are given their goodbye. We stand around in silence. It's oddly peaceful. And surprisingly respectful.

Perhaps… perhaps this was just a burial.

I glance at Santana, confused behind her true intention. She's staring straight ahead, at the flames.

I wonder what kind of game she's playing.

"Houston, we have a problem," Blaine says out of nowhere, breaking the silence.

When I turn, I am alarmed to see him in a crouch, his gun pointed away from Sam and into the complete opposite direction. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Santana turn and look as well. I squint and, despite trying to remain quiet, gasp in surprise despite myself.

Raiders. A lot of them. Not that far off in the distance and closing the gap, heading our way. "Son of a bitch," I mutter.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Mohawk shouts. "How many Raiders are there? We've never seen this many in this short of time! Get back to town!" He grabs my arm to jerk me back in that direction.

"There's no time!" Santana yells. "We'd never make it and they'd turn their attention on the town." She pushes Jesse behind the pyre and then reaches for Sebastian to do the same. "Give them everything you got. We are _not_ letting them advance."

Mohawk steps around me, no longer considering me the primary threat, and takes his own ready stance. The Sniper is already prone and adjusting his scope for distance. Guess I'll get to see how good a shot he is after all.

I spin. "Untie me," I say loudly to Santana.

She glances at me as she pulls both of her pistols from their holsters slung low against each hip. "Not gonna happen."

The Raiders are running towards us now. I count about twelve and suddenly realize these are likely the same savages that burned that village down just days ago. They're still too far away to begin opening fire, but it won't be long. We are outnumbered. And that makes me nervous. I don't know these people around me; I've never seen them fight. I'll be dammed if I will stand back and allow them to protect me. "Untie me or give me a weapon."

"No way," she says again. She looks calm, collected, as if the advancement of these ruthless killers doesn't faze her in the least.

I, on the other hand, am not as cool and collected. "I'll die!" I tell her through clenched teeth. I glance down at my bound hands and then at Sebastian and Jesse anxiously watching from behind the pyre as they pull Sam back there with him. "You've already left us to die once! You can't just leave us defenseless!" She turns to look at me. "I want these guys dead as much as you do." She looks away from the Raiders, who are nearly within striking distance and stares at me, wrestling with thought. "Just give me _something!_" I yell frantically. "I can help you!"

After what feels like an eternity, I see her shake her head almost imperceptibly. She lowers her hand to her belt and pulls a dagger from a leather sleeve. She gives me one last long look and then, so fast that I'm almost not prepared, tosses me the knife, hilt-first. I recover and snatch it greedily out of the air. I flip the blade edge around and begin to saw the serrated edge against the plastic binding my wrists. It takes a minute, but I manage to sever the middle. My hands are free again.

"Lopez!" Mohawk shouts in our direction. Santana turns and they look at each other before advancing on the Raiders.

And in that moment it hits me. Like a harsh blow to my stomach, taking all the wind from my lungs.

Lopez. Santana Lopez.

Suddenly it all makes sense: her knowledge of Militia law, the arrogant placement of her tattoo, the calm demeanor before a battle, why she didn't help us, her confidence…

Why the _hell_ hadn't I figured it out sooner?

We're being held captive by a myth. By a legend. By the Militia's number one enemy: Cale Lopez's daughter.

Santana's reputation is equal if not surpassing to that of her father's. The amount of Militia she's taken out single-handedly after his death is in the hundreds.

Some believed her skills to be greatly exaggerated, made up to scare us. Others claimed to have witnessed her deadly ability first hand and vowed never to cross her again.

There were rumors that she was still alive, out West, waiting, biding her time while she planned something massive to destroy the Militia. I'm not sure how many people actually believed that, however.

Yet, here she is, alive and well and every bit as beautifully terrifying to watch in a fight as the rumors said she was. It's mesmerizing really. The way she spins, the way she takes out Raider after Raider with determined ease… it's like she was born to fight.

I think maybe she was.

I watch her for so long, that I almost forget I'm in the middle of the same fight she is.

I smell him before I see him. I rip my attention away from Santana to the Raider advancing towards me rather quickly. I turn the handle of the dagger inwards and make a fist around the hilt.

He charges with an odd looking pickaxe held high above his head, leaving his entire chest and stomach exposed. I grip the dagger and dig my heels into the dirt to brace myself for impact. This one should be easy.

I let him come, but crouch low. When he gets about an arm's length away, I shift quickly out to my left and leave the dagger high out to my side.

He doesn't have time to adjust to my shift. He impales himself on my blade, chest-first. As he dies, he brings his heavily muscled arms down in a death stroke, but catches nothing but dirt with his own weapon. When he falls to his knees, I stand and put a boot to his shoulder and push. My knife comes free of him. He collapses backward in a heap.

I turn back towards the battle and look for Sam. As predicted, he's right in the thick of things. Sam's not the hiding type. Weaponless, he's still apparently managed to tackle a Raider and is bringing both bound fists down into the back of his attacker's head. I start to jog over to him but notice Jesse running over to help out.

Knowing they can handle it, I turn and find Santana again. She's got her shotgun out now. I notice her just as she's bringing the butt of the gun down with violent speed into the bridge of her attacker's nose. The Raider staggers back in a daze and is promptly and literally blown away when Santana flips the gun around and blasts him with the business end.

What she doesn't see is the Raider coming at her from behind. I instinctively take a step forward and raise my knife by the blade between my thumb and forefinger, ready to let loose. But then I stop short.

Santana Lopez.

The bounty on her head is a small fortune. Bringing her in dead would mean fame and reputation. A higher rank and anything I could ever want or need for the rest of my life. It would prove that I deserved my rank. That I belong in the Militia.

If she's dead, my life would be astronomically easier…

It would be easy really. Take out Santana then free Sam, Jesse, and Sebastian and take out the rest of the townspeople and the last of the Raiders.

While I'm contemplating all this, I see Santana make an odd move. She suddenly turns her wrist and the shotgun over in her right hand, pointing it back behind her and away from her body. Without so much as a look over her shoulder, she pulls the trigger again. The blast surprises me and catches the Raider behind her full on, lifting him off his feet and sending him flying. I assume he was surprised too.

I guess she did see him after all.

Another Raider, twice her size, seems to materialize from nowhere on her right side. With almost no time to react, she has to bring the shotgun up with both hands and use it as a shield to hold back his advance.

I glance around quickly and see that, amazingly, these townspeople have managed to bring the Raiders' numbers down to just a few. Thanks largely in part to _her_. But the rest of her group is too busy finishing off and chasing after the last of them to notice her struggle.

I push the sunglasses up on the top of my head and watch unobstructed as she struggles with the Raider twice her size.

My, how the tables have turned.

This would be the best time to take her down, to make our escape.

I think about how she left us out here to die.

Then I think about how she inevitably saved my life.

I think about how she is directly responsible for more Militia deaths than anyone in our history. Many of those men and women were mentors of mine.

But then I think about the burial she tried to give my comrades. The respect she showed them. That despite how much shit her people must have given her for bringing me and Sam and Sebastian and Jesse in, she did it anyway. She could have just killed us and been done with it. She didn't.

My eyes go again to the tattoo on her arm as she brings that arm up to try and wrench herself free from the giant of a Raider that now has a single, massive arm wrapped around her throat in a deadly headlock. Her other arm beats relentlessly, but uselessly, against his own thick neck.

They spin around slightly, Santana's back towards me as she claws at his arm.

I think about the bounty, the glory, the fame in bringing her death.

Santana Lopez: the daughter of the Rebellion. The Militia's worst nightmare and my mortal enemy.

The decision is clear.

Without even realize I'm doing it, I bring my hand back and whip it forward with practiced ease. The dagger flies end over end from my fingers, whistling as it hurtles at deadly speed towards Santana's exposed back.

* * *

**Thanks to all of you reading this - it's been a blast for me to write. Thanks especially to those of you taking the time to message me and leave reviews...it's more appreciated than you know! **


	5. Chapter 5

**SANTANA'S POV**

I bring my feet up and try and kick at him. I pull desperately at the massive arm around my neck, trying to get some sort of advantage. If I could just reach my pistol…

Then, suddenly, I can breathe again. The giant arm falls away and the weight constricting me falls away. My feet hit the ground and as they do, I spin to face my attacker. I pull my gun out as I turn and aim at the Raider. I see the hilt of a knife protruding from his forehead as he sinks to the ground.

What the hell? I whip my head back the other way and try to figure out where the knife might have come from. My eyes meet Quinn's instantly. She's staring at me, her sunglasses pushed up atop her head. She has this intense expression on her face. I don't really understand it. Her chest heaves as she too pulls in deep breaths.

She looks as shocked as I feel.

I look down at the dead Raider and realize that could've been me. She could've just as easily thrown that knife at my head. Careful not to take my eyes off of her for long, I steal glances around me. There are bodies of Raiders scattered across the ground. Fortunately, most of my people are up and running at the ones that are still alive and fighting. I notice Puck's Mohawk leading the charge at the last few standing.

Leaning down, I pull the knife from the Raider's forehead and stand up straight, rotating my shoulders and stretching my limbs. As I'm stepping over the body, I wipe the blade on my pants and stick the dagger back in its holster on my belt, my breathing finally evening back out. I watch as Puck finishes off the last of Raider's and he looks at me, giving a nod. When I turn back, she's still staring at me, tense and cautious.

Quinn Fabray just saved my life.

Before I can open my mouth to… What? To thank her? Show some sort of gratitude? Puck jogs over. "Where the hell did they come from?" he asks, stepping up beside me. Puck's out of breath too, but he's grinning ear to ear. He always did like a good fight.

"I don't know," I answer. I tear my eyes away from Quinn's as her companions wander over to her, dazed, but surprisingly still alive.

"What the hell was that? Bringing us here to have the Raider's finish us off? Was that your master plan?" Sebastian accuses.

"Listen here, you little shit," Puck says, advancing towards Sebastian.

Before he gets far, I reach out and grab him by the bicep. When he looks back, all I have to do is shake my head no. I can tell he's not at all happy about it, but he nods just once to let me know he'll comply before storming off to check the bodies of the Raiders for ammo. Puck may be a hothead, but he knows when to put that shit away if the situation calls for it. And there's already been enough death for one afternoon.

Blaine steps up beside me, winded and disheveled. I reach out to him immediately and pull him in close. I give him a once over from head to toe; his eyes are wide and there's blood spattered across his face, but I realize it's not his fairly quickly. "Are you hurt?" I ask worriedly. He shakes his head and I wipe some of the blood away with my thumb, relieved he's uninjured. "Are you sure you're okay?" He nods frantically. "Good." I pat his arm reassured.

"Did you hear me?" Sebastian tries again.

Ignoring him, I turn to my friends. "Blaine, take anyone that's hurt to see Tina. Hurry. "Puck," I call over as he frees a pistol from a downed Raider, "get those bodies thrown on the pyre. Just get rid of them. And Mike, make sure these four get back to their rooms in one piece," I point to our guests, who are standing together in a close-knit clump, watching us all.

Mike moves towards them and I tug an extra pair of restraints from his back pocket. My eyes fall on Quinn and she stares back, not making a move. I close the distance between us and hold out the restraints. She glances down at them and then at the knife strapped to my belt.

I wait. For what, I'm not quite sure.

Finally, her eyes lift to meet mine and she holds out her hands, a small smirk on her face.

She's just evened things up between us. She knows it.

What's worse? She knows that _I _know it.

I slip the loops over her hands and pull the ends out hard, tightening the plastic against her skin. I give her one last impassive look and step away so that Mike can lead them off.

I watch them go, my eyes glued to Quinn's back, wondering again why she did what she just did.

"You're bleeding."

"What?" I turn towards Puck. He nods at my arm and I look down, startled to find blood seeping through my shirt. When did that happen? "I'm fine," I say dismissively. Although, now that he's pointed it out, it hurts like hell. "Come on, I'll help you get these guys taken care of," I tell him and nod towards the bodies littered around us.

I walk through the tangled limbs and look for anything useful we can take while Puck stokes the pyre close by. When I'm finished searching them, I signal over to Puck and together we drag the bodies over one by one and toss them on the flames. The stench is nearly unbearable, so I pull a bandana from my back pocket and wrap it as tight as I can around my nose and mouth. It helps, but not as much I'd like.

Puck and I heave a particularly big Raider up onto the growing pile and turn to finish with the last few. That's when I see Rachel running for us, Kurt close behind. "What the hell happened?" she asks, breathless.

"We got jumped by Raiders," Puck answers dryly.

"What? _More_ of them?" Kurt asks.

Rachel brings her arm up to cover her mouth and nose as she watches us toss another body on the pyre. "What are we going to do?"

"I'll tell you what you and Kurt can do," I say, turning to face them. "Take that stuff back to town. Then go help Tina."

"And the prisoners?" Kurt asks expectantly.

I wipe my brow with the back of my hand and look back at the bright yellow flames. I think about Quinn's wide eyes; the surprise and anger in them as she stared back at me. Just one or two inches to the left and that blade of hers - of mine - would have undoubtedly killed me. It could be me in those flames right now.

_Why_ did I give her that knife? And why didn't she kill me? As hard as I've been trying, I can't shake those two questions. Just over and over in my head repeating relentlessly. And I am keenly aware that I'm not going to be able to answer either of them out here.

I have to think. I have to sit down and really think about it all. I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

"Make sure they aren't hurt," I decide finally. "And bring them some water. They helped us out," I tell them all. "It's the least we can do."

Kurt steps in close. "What are you thinking?" he asks, keeping his voice low. "I know that look. You're plotting."

He isn't wrong about that. "Go help Tina. And tell Blaine I need to talk to him."

* * *

I've been in this damn shed all day. I'm sore and exhausted and haven't been outside in almost 14 hours. But we're almost finished. Just another hour or two and we should be done.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Kurt asks as he leans against the counter. He glances beside him at the mess Blaine and I have successfully accumulated in my otherwise spotless work shed.

I narrow my eyes and look over at him. "You have a better one?"

"Several actually," Kurt says arrogantly. He picks up a rusting piece of piping and grimaces before moving it away from him. "We could shoot them for starters."

I roll my eyes. "We're not going to shoot them." Kurt sighs and I turn towards Blaine seated across from me. He's stuffing clay into the interior of the hollowed out metal band. "How is it looking?"

Blaine glances up at me with a smile. "There's enough C-4 on this thing to put a hole in the world!"

"Oh, my God," Kurt says running his hand through his hair nervously. "I hate when you two play with explosives. It makes me so nervous."

"Which is why you're in charge of the fence," I tell Kurt with a wink.

He's about to respond when the door flies open, crashing against the wall behind it. It startles Kurt to the point of jumping. "Dammit, Rachel!" Kurt shrieks at her, holding his hand against his heart dramatically. "Don't you know how to knock?"

If Rachel hears him, she doesn't show it. She marches right for me, her face set with a determined anger. "Are you insane?"

I ignore the seething look and pull the lantern closer towards me so I can see what I'm doing. "Apparently," I tell her deadpan, though I don't have a clue to what she's talking about. When it comes to Rachel it could be anything really.

"Giving her a _weapon?_" she shouts. Oh yeah. That. "She could've killed you!"

"Word travels fast, huh?" I ask, glancing at Blaine. He's been with me. So it had to have either been Mike or Puck who told her. My money's on Puck.

I hold out my hand and Blaine gives me the metal band now stuffed with clay.

Rachel steps closer and leans in towards me. "Santana. She threw a knife. At your _head_."

"She threw a knife at a _Raider's_ head," I mumble.

"Maybe she missed," Rachel huffs and crosses her arms over her chest.

I shake my head and look back down at the several short, twisted wires in my hand. Gently, I press the pointed ends of each down into the soft clay Blaine has molded into the metal ring. "She didn't miss."

Blaine looks from me to Rachel, wringing his hands together uneasily. "Gentlemen, you can't fight in here! This is the War Room!"

I glance at Kurt who has picked up on Blaine's anxiety. He pushes himself off of the counter and reaches out, gently placing his hand on Blaine's shoulder. "Come on. Let's leave the lovers to quarrel."

I keep my eyes on my work, ignoring the heated stare I know I'm getting from Rachel. The door to the shed closes quietly, leaving us alone.

"Seriously, what were you thinking?" Rachel asks me.

I let out a heavy sigh and put my tools down on the bench, resigned to the conflict. I look up at her and shrug derisively. "I don't know. That no one should be unarmed in a fight?"

"From what I hear, you didn't free the other three," she counters.

"Yeah well, they ran and hid like little bitches," I mumble.

Her eyes fall to the pile of scrap metal and wires in front of me. "What are you doing?" Her eyes flick back to mine. She points towards the restraints. "Santana, what are those?"

"An upgrade," I tell her causally. I pick up my pliers and turn back towards finishing the restraints.

"Bombs? You've been in here all day building _bombs?_" She screeches. "You _are _insane! You could blow up the entire town!"

I roll my eyes. "I'm not going to blow up -"

"Are these for the prisoners?" she asks furiously.

"They aren't really _prisoners_," I correct her.

"Well then what are they?" She asks. I shrug. I'm not sure how to answer that. "Santana!"

I wince at the volume of her voice. I throw my tools back on the bench and lean back in my chair, exasperated. "Rach, look. I'm exhausted, okay? I haven't slept in days, I'm trying to figure what exactly to do with our _guests_, we were just ambushed by Raiders, my damn arm won't stop bleeding, and now I'm being screamed at. By you. So could you please, _please_, just _sit down_ and hand me that screwdriver?"

Her expression changes suddenly as her eyes fall to my arm and the hint of blood seeping through. She frowns. "You're still hurt?" I sigh. Immediately she goes to the sink on the other side of the room. "Why didn't you go see Tina?" she asks over her shoulder as she rummages for medical supplies.

"She was busy." It's true. She had her hands full. "I'm fine. It's just a scratch."

"That won't stop bleeding!" Rachel insists. When I turn, she's standing next to me with a wet wash cloth and an arm full of bandages, iodine and various other medical supplies I keep next to the sink. "Roll up your sleeve," she instructs seriously. When I roll my eyes, she stamps her foot and sets her jaw. "Santana, it's going to get infected."

I put my tools down again and push my chair out from the table, turning so that I'm facing Rachel while rolling up the sleeve to my shirt.

I wait with what very little patience I have left while she goes back to the sink to scrub her hands clean. I reach for my small box of cigarettes and frown when I peek inside and only see a few left. I reach for one and place it between my lips, grabbing my lighter and igniting the end of the cigarette.

Rachel wanders back over and narrows her eyes at me while I take a long drag, sighing as the smoke exits my lips. "Are you sure you should be doing that in here? Won't that like… detonate them?"

"No," I say with a snort. I take another long drag and blow the smoke away from her, relaxing back into the chair. "There isn't a fuse."

Her eyes narrow. "Well could you please put it out anyway? You'll smell like a furnace."

We stare at each other for a long moment, Rachel waiting for me to do as she's asked, me wondering if she's actually being serious. "Rachel, do you know how hard these things are to come by lately?" I ask. Not that it matters. I've seen the look before; Rachel's got her mind made up. Which means Rachel's going to get her way. There aren't many people alive that I'd honor that sort of deal with, but Rachel happens to be one of them. She stares me down, unblinking, and taps her foot while she waits me out. Giving in, I take one more drag before snuffing it out on the table.

Immediately satisfied, Rachel presses the cold, wet cloth to the wound on my arm. I suck in a breath of sudden, sharp pain as she dabs at the fresh blood around the opening. When I look down, I see she's cleaned up the scratch quite a bit. I also am somewhat interested to note that the "scratch" isn't so much a scratch as it is a veritable open wound. She gives me a new "I told you this was bad" look and sets to work on removing the black-red blood that has already dried. "You're going to need stitches," she tells me regrettably.

"There's a needle and fishing line in my house," I tell her. She gives me a look. "Wouldn't be the first time you've stitched me up," I remind her.

She nods. "Let me clean it and get it wrapped up in the meantime. Then I'll get what I need."

I watch her clean the wound with a frown, now even more irritated that I had to put out my cigarette, and irritated that I let a bunch of Raider's get the jump on us.

Then I look back over at the mish-mash of Plastique and kinky wiring on my workbench and, not for the first time, wonder if I truly know what the hell I'm doing or if I am, in fact, going insane. I used to live for this sort of thing: Fighting, explosives, manipulation, revenge…

Now all I want is to be left alone.

And worse of all, I can't stop thinking about Quinn. Or the look in her eyes after she threw that knife. Why can't I stop thinking about her? How could she possibly have gotten under my skin so quickly?

"You look upset. Are you okay?" Rachel asks me softly as she wraps a clean bandage around my arm.

"There's a bounty on my head you know," I say quietly.

"I know."

"A big one."

Rachel finishes wrapping my arm and lets her hands drop to her side. "I know."

"And you're right. She really could've killed me," I say looking up at her. Rachel watches me, understanding and sympathy in her eyes. "So why didn't she?"

I'm confused and exhausted. I'm so used to killing the Militia and having them try and kill me. But now, I've saved them. I've saved _her._ And she's saved me. And I don't understand _why._ It's been so long since I've been thrown by something like this.

It took me a very, very long time to get away from my past life. And now, here I am right back in it. Part of me actually wishes that she had just thrown the knife at me. _That_ I would've been able to understand. I mean, that's what's supposed to happen isn't it? Militia and Rebels don't take turns saving each other.

I suddenly realize that I truly have no idea what to do with the four Militia members I've had locked away. Even less of a clue about what to do with them next.

Instead of answering my question, Rachel pulls me against her until my head is resting against her chest. She wraps her arms around me tightly and runs her fingers through my hair. I close my eyes and choose to take comfort from her as I try, and fail, to settle the thoughts in my head.

* * *

**QUINN'S POV**

The door swings open violently and Mohawk steps through. "Santana wants you all out in the yard."

It's been over a day since I've seen her. There hasn't been a trace of her since she threw me back in here two days ago. No sudden appearance out of the shadows. No witty banter. Nothing. I can't help but wonder if she's avoiding me. And now she wants us all in the yard? After zero contact? To say I'm apprehensively curious would be an understatement.

I get up from my cot and wait as Mohawk exchanges the chain around my leg for the wrist restraints I'm growing so very fond of. I walk slowly towards the door. Mohawk pushes me roughly on the back, shoving me outside.

We walk slowly to the center of town where the remains of my group is already there waiting. So are a handful of the townspeople, alert and aiming rifles out at the four of us.

"What's happening?" Sam whispers to me as I step up beside him.

"I have no idea," I mumble. And then I see her.

She stands a short distance away, watching us indifferently with her arms across her chest. Per usual, her large sunglasses cover her eyes, making it hard to read her expression. The odd one, Blaine, is next to her, holding something in both hands. The girl, Rachel, is standing farther away, watching uncomfortably from the doorway of the tavern.

I'm not sure what's going on, but I'm fairly well convinced that it can't be good.

"Is it true that she's really Santana Lopez?" Jesse asks me.

So they, too, have figured that one out for themselves. "It is," I say almost regretfully. If I caught on it was only a matter of time before they did as well.

Sebastian, on other hand, may not have known. "I fucking knew it," he roars. He looks towards her and stands up tall. "When I get my hands on you - "

"Are you bringing us out here for the town lynching?" I interrupt. "Or are you assembling a firing squad?"

"Even better," Mohawk answers with a smile. "All of you: Line up. Side by side."

Santana just continues to stare as we fall in line. Well, more like pushed into line. Mohawk has no problem positioning us as he sees fit.

He holds up a knife and grins. "Who wants to go first?"

No one says anything as he looks down the line, one by one. We have no idea what's going on or why he's dangling a knife in our faces. But if he thinks we're going to volunteer to be sliced open, he's sorely mistaken.

I stare at Santana, unmoving, as she simply just stands there. Slowly, her eyebrow arches. "I will," I say finally, accepting her subtle challenge.

"Quinn -"

I shoot Sam a look and step forward, standing directly in front of Mohawk. I lift my chin higher, standing tall as he sizes me up. "Should've known," he taunts.

He reaches out with his blade and looks me in the eyes. I stare back. Whatever he's going to do, he needs to just do it.

"See Mike up there in the nest?" My eyes flick up to him, his long-range rifle raised and aimed at me. I bring my eyes back to Mohawk's. "If you try and run, he'll shoot you."

I don't bother answering. There's no point. He reminds me of this every time I see him. Run and we get shot. Got it.

He slips the knife forward below my sightline. I don't even look. Instead, I keep my eyes on her and brace for the impact. It takes me a moment to notice, but I feel my wrists start to shake. Confusion gets the better of me and I look down and see that Mohawk is sawing through my wrist-restraints. I look back up at Santana in confusion, but she just stares back. When I look back down, he's sawed through the last bit, and my hands are unbound again. I look up at Mohawk, who just smiles and steps back.

Well _this_ I was not expecting.

Blaine walks towards me and smiles almost kindly. I'm about to give up and ask what the hell is going on when I notice the circular metal band he's holding in his right hand, out and away from his body. He gets a few feet away and kneels in the dirt at my feet. Realization begins to flood in as he pushes up my pants, undoes a latch on the loop, unclasps it and then clasps the loop together once again around my ankle. The weight isn't much, but the fit is fairly snug.

Mohawk moves down the line to Sam next. And then Jesse. Blaine follows behind and gives each of them their new piece of mystery jewelry.

"What the hell is this?" Sebastian asks as Mohawk cuts his wrist bands.

Blaine bends, closing the last of the new metal bands around Sebastian's ankle. He stands and smiles, leaning in close. "Pop quiz, hotshot. There's a bomb on a bus. Once the bus goes 50 miles an hour, the bomb is armed. If it drops below 50, it blows up. What do you do? _What do you do?_"

Sebastian narrows his eyes. "What the fuck are you talking about?" Blaine just arches his eyebrows. Sebastian looks past him and shouts towards Santana. "Is he screwed up in the head or something?"

Mohawk takes a threatening step towards Sebastian. "Stop," Santana says to him, suddenly just a few feet away. She puts a gentle hand on Mohawk's shoulder, keeping him from advancing, though he seems to already have let go of the idea. A part of me wishes she wouldn't have stopped him.

Jesse pokes at his anklet curiously. "What does he mean?" he asks, looking at me. It's hard not to notice the fear dawning in his eyes.

"I wouldn't do that if I was you," Mohawk cautions.

Blaine's weird phrase begins to repeat in my head. _The bomb is armed…_

Well isn't this just _great_.

"It means these new restraints are wired to explode," I say much more calmly than I feel. "Right?" I ask Santana.

She doesn't respond.

Jesse drops his finger from the metal band and stands straight up, the color draining from his face. "You're turning us into human bombs?" he all but squeaks.

I look up to see Rachel turning around to walk back in the tavern. Judging by the clear look of disgust on her face, I'd say the four of us aren't the only ones upset about this new development.

"Who has the detonator?" I ask, growing steadily more pissed at the notion of a home-made bomb strapped to my ankle.

"There is no detonator," Mohawk says with amusement.

"What, are they on a timer?" Sam asks, looking back and forth between the restraint and Mohawk.

"You have parameters," Mohawk starts. "You can't go more than fifty yards from around the fence of this town or else the explosives will be triggered and half of your body will be blown to bloody bits. And if you try and take it off without the proper key, it will explode."

Sebastian crosses his arm, a challenging smirk on his face. "How do you know they work? Have you tested them?"

Mohawk shrugs casually. "We strapped one on a cow and led it away from the gates."

"Then what happened?" Jesse asks.

"We had ground beef for weeks!" Mohawk cracks up, along with several members of the town who are still surrounding us.

"You're lying," I call him on his bullshit.

"They work," Santana confirms with an amused smirk.

Sebastian laughs and shakes his head. "I think you're _all_ full of shit."

Santana arches a brow. "Am I?"

And just like that, she turns and walks away. The rest of the townspeople follow her lead. Mohawk is the last to go, giving us one last wicked grin before he does.

"So, we're just free to wander around?" Sam calls out after her. Mohawk makes a dismissive gesture with his hand over his shoulder. And that's the last of that.

I glance up at the Sniper in the crow's nest and see he's turned his back on us to look out over the gates. "I guess so," I mumble as I watch Santana walk away.

Within seconds we are left standing alone, in the middle of the town yard. Their sudden lack of interest is a bit disconcerting.

"I think they're bluffing," Sebastian repeats. He leans over and tugs at the band around his ankle.

"I wouldn't mess with that too much," Jesse says, watching Sebastian uncomfortably.

Sebastian gives the anklet one final tug and stands, spinning around to face Jesse, annoyed. "It's not going to blow up! I'm telling you, they're full of shit! That's what the Rebels do! They play mind games!"

"I don't know. I think we're legitimately strapped to explosives," Sam says as he eyes his restraint closely.

Sebastian rolls his eyes.

"Sam's right," I finally say. "Cale Lopez was an explosives expert. So was… _is _Santana. Remember how many Militia buildings she wired to remotely explode after her father died? She's more than capable of this." I point towards the band.

"Those stories are exaggerated. She's just Rebel scum," Sebastian spits out. "They're built to lie. And I think she's lying."

I make a sweeping gesture towards the gate. "Then by all means Sebastian, please prove us wrong."

He stares at me for a moment, his nostrils flaring and his jaw setting firmly in place. "Fine. I will."

He turns and marches purposely towards the gate. I look around. If anyone is watching us, they're pretty well hidden. Jesse, Sam, and I, on the other hand, watch Sebastian very closely. Simple fact is, I don't trust Santana. What's worse, I can't quite figure her out. So while I'm pretty sure that proximity explosives would easily fit within her skill-set, I'm also equally sure that she's intent on messing with our heads.

I realize, watching Sebastian walk towards that gate, that I'm holding my breath to which one is accurate.

Sebastian starts to slow as he approaches the gate. A couple of townspeople are chatting by the entrance. They spare him only a brief glance before turning back to their conversation. The door behind them appears to have only a single horizontal bar in place as a lock.

I cross my arms and wait.

I hear Jesse suck in a deep breath as we all watch Sebastian walk over and reach out to lift the latch…

…And then pull his hand back to run it through his hair instead. He casually turns and walks back to us as if nothing had ever happened.

The three of us burst into laughter.

But I'm not going to lie, I'm a little disappointed he didn't go for it.

* * *

We've been here for four days.

For four nights of lying here, staring at the ceiling, wondering when the other shoe will drop. And yet, despite believing it's got to be any day now, there's been no release and no execution. For whatever reason, Santana wants us here and she wants us alive. Confined, sure. But alive.

My stomach rumbles loudly. I haven't even much today. Our new "freedom" comes with plenty of upgrades, but the automatic trays of food have stopped. Apparently we're supposed to fend for ourselves. But from the looks the town cook has been giving us, none of us are anxious to step foot in her tavern.

Maybe we'll starve after all.

The sound of boots on the hardwood floor has me pushing my head back against the pillow. She steps in my door way and I see her boots and skin tight pants first before trailing my eyes upwards. Her arms are resting causally by her sides and even upside-down I can tell her brows are arched. "You're free to wander anywhere in the town, yet here you are, back in your cage," she says in amusement.

I rest my head back down on my pillow and look back up at the ceiling. "And here I was thinking you were avoiding me."

Santana steps further in the room and tosses something at me. "I wanted to return this," she says as my missing jacket hits my chest.

"My jacket _and_ a lovely new accessory," I lift my leg in the air, revealing the metal band around my ankle. I turn my head to look at her with a smile. "Whatever shall I do with all this kindness?"

"When did it click?" She pushes her glasses up on the top of her head and crosses her arms as she looks down at me. "Figuring out who I was."

My eyes land on her arm. "Well the tattoo was hint number one." I swing my legs over the side of the cot and sit up, running a hand through my hair. "Then when Mohawk called you Lopez, kind of a huge confirmation."

The sides of her mouth turn upwards. "Mohawk?" She shakes her head and laughs. "Oh, he's gonna love that."

"So you really are hiding," I say, the fact still hard to grasp. Not once did I ever think Santana Lopez would hide. Bide her time and re-surface unexpectedly, maybe. But not hide."

"I'm not hiding. I'm just trying to move on," she says with a shrug.

"From killing the Militia?" Now that surprises me.

"Something like that," she says with a small smile.

I sit up and lean back on my elbows, watching her curiously. I thought I knew her. I thought I knew how she operated. Years of hearing about her, studying her… I thought I'd be better prepared for this. But she has done nothing but surprise me since I've been here. I have a feeling I'm going to need to reevaluate everything I thought I knew about her. "What about you?" I say after a moment. "When did you figure out who _I _was?"

Her smile fades into a smirk. "The fact that you're a Lieutenant is a pretty huge red flag there, Q."

I narrow my eyes at her insult. "I earned my rank."

"I'm sure you did," she agrees sarcastically.

I sigh. "So now what?"

"Well, you haven't been offering up any information so…"

She still has her shotgun strapped to her back, but she's only carrying one pistol on her thigh. My eyes roam upwards to the key attached to the chain around her neck. I wonder if that's the key to my freedom. "You've given us free reign over your town. How do you know we won't try and kill you all in your sleep?"

"We don't. But if you try, we'll march you all out of the gates." She makes an exploding sound complete with hand gestures.

I roll my eyes. "You're not doing anyone any good by keeping us here, you know."

She nods in agreement. "You're right. I mean, we _could_ kill you. And when your search party finally comes, which, I know they will, we could just play innocent. Act as if we've never seen you. Maybe they attack, maybe they don't. But either way, they wouldn't know you were ever here."

She's right. She's absolutely right. A search party _will_ come looking for us. And odds are there a hundred different places we could be hidden in this town without outsiders ever having a clue where to look. You know if we were still alive by then. The thought is slightly disconcerting.

"Or, I could hold you all as hostages. Negotiate some sort of arrangement," she continues.

I laugh. "Rebels and Militia making a deal?" I shoot her a look. "Please."

"Exactly," she says with a knowing smile. "So I'm working on a plan C. Until the details are all sorted out, you're stuck here. With your new piece of jewelry."

"And you're telling me all of this because…?" Not that I'm not entertained by her somewhat, vague thought process, but there must be a reason why she's being so forthcoming.

"You asked," she says simply.

We watch each other for another moment before my eyes lower to my foot. I turn my ankle, feeling the slight weight wrapped around it. "You didn't really strap one of these on a cow did you?"

"Nah," she says, shaking her head. "It was a pig." But I can tell she's lying. I smile and look away, examining the anklet once more.

"Why didn't you do it?"

The softness in her voice pulls my attention back to her. She's watching me curiously, the playfulness all but gone from her face.

I know exactly what she's asking. It's the same question that has been plaguing me since it happened. Why didn't I do it? I can't answer it myself. I have no idea why I didn't do it. It was the perfect opportunity. Probably my one and only shot of getting the better of her. And instead of bringing down the enemy I was born to hate…

I saved her life.

I shrug hoping I appear to be more casual on the outside than I feel on the inside. "Why didn't you?" I ask her.

She regards me carefully, her eyes locked on mine. I never realized until this very moment how amazingly telling her eyes can be. Her face shows indifference but her eyes… her eyes show confusion, hurt, curiosity…

And understanding. Maybe this is why she always wears those sunglasses.

Neither of us can explain why we did what we did. We just… did it.

Santana reaches behind her and pulls something out of her back pocket. She tosses it to me so quickly that I'm barely able to catch it. I glance down at the small rectangle in my hands.

It's a bar of soap.

Surprised, I look over at her, but she's walking towards the door. "Can I have my knife back, too?"

"After seeing what you can do with it? I don't think so," she laughs without turning around.


	6. Chapter 6

**SANTANA'S POV**

Every encounter with Quinn makes me more and more curious. I want to know more about her. But she's Militia. She's very _important_ to the Militia. And it would be in my best judgment to stay away from her, to keep a safe and cautious distance. Not to establish any kind of social or personal connection with her.

My father would smack the shit out of me if he knew I was obsessing over a Militia girl.

_"Never trust anyone affiliated with the Militia, mija," _he would say._ "No matter how innocent they may appear to be. And never trust a pretty girl. They'll just break your heart."_

Yeah, well, I can't help it if Quinn is decent looking. More than decent looking, actually.

After leaving her today, I had this sudden urge to read my father's old journals. It's one of the only things of his that I took with me when I left. But I haven't looked at them in a very long time. Occasionally I'll open them up and add to them. Cross out old information and update them with the information Will sends my way, just like my father used to do.

When I left the Rebellion several years ago, I broke contact with most of my friends and connections. Right now, Will's my only remaining link to the Rebellion. I rely on him to stay updated on what's going on out there, despite the fact that I am no longer a part of them.

I guess you can't just walk away from something that used to be such an important part of your life.

I run my eyes over the dozens of thin, paper journals. My father had one for everything: locations, weaponry, tactics… the list goes on. But today, only one in particular holds my interest. It possesses the names, ranks, and locations of the Militia.

I push through the pages, skimming over the neatly scrawled words. The list of names seems endless. Judging by the dates and the intel I get from Will, I know many are still current, but there are also plenty listed that are no longer active. Just a simple list of names and ranks, and yet this meticulous collection is one of the most valuable strategic pieces the Rebellion owns. This was the journal that helped me pick and choose which Militia buildings and camps to blow up after he died. The higher the ranking, the more damage I could do by taking them out.

It was vital to me then and it's suddenly vital to me again now.

I scan my eyes over the names until I land on the one name I sought out to find - Russell Fabray. At the time his name was added, he was a Lieutenant stationed in what used to be known as Virginia. I was a baby and he was already a high ranking official.

Over the years, however, the names of his comrades surrounding him on the page have been crossed out; either KIA or MIA. Now, Russell Fabray is the highest name on this list without a line through it.

Under his name are a few personal notes written by my father: _Deadly. Arrogant. Willing to do anything to become General. Wife Judy… _And there, written in print so small that it almost seems an afterthought, are the two words that came back to me the instant I read the name on the collar of her Militia jacket:_ Daughter Quinn._

I stare at her name for a moment, my mind wrapping around the idea that she's actually here, in my town.

My father never spoke of the family members of the Militia. He did warn me that their children would grow to be just as deadly and that they would become my enemies. _"These ranking officials have children. They are not innocent. They are being raised to kill you, to hunt you. Because you are my daughter, they will spite you even more than their parents. Be wary of their children. They will grow into adults just as you will. And you in turn will also hunt them."_

I close my eyes and think about my father's lecture. This is the first time I've had a run-in with any officer's child. They train their children into adulthood before releasing them into the world. I stopped fighting around the same time they were let loose to "hunt."

But here she and I are all the same. The daughter of the infamous Militia General and me, the daughter of the Rebellion's greatest warrior. It's pretty funny when you think about it. Because truthfully, it's a helluva gift I've been given. Taking Quinn out would cause such a spectacle in this war. I could remind people I am to be feared. How big of a player I still am. I could make a show out of her death and reestablish my name.

But my thoughts keep wandering back to her eyes. I've never seen eyes so... expressive. They change like her mood. One minute they're sparkling green, the next they're dark and hazel. It's fascinating really. And as much damage I could do to the Militia by killing her, I just can't bring myself to think about any kind of harm coming to her.

It's confusing and frustrating.

I'm suddenly aware that I'm squinting at the names in front of me and notice that it's getting dark out. I close the journal and take a deep breath. The moment I put the journal away is the moment I know, without a doubt, that I won't kill Quinn. I don't care if she is truly as deadly and hateful as my father warned me about. If it comes to defending myself and this town then so be it. But I won't be making the first move.

The weight of this little revelation is broken when I notice someone walk by my window. When I turn to look, I'm somehow not even surprised to see it's none other than the General's daughter herself. I spot something in her left hand and notice that it's a bar of soap.

Huh. I guess she really was serious about taking that bath.

Intrigued, I slip the journal back in my safe and close it, locking it away. Turning towards my dresser, I open a couple of the drawers and pull out a few things. I give one last plaintive look towards the safe and my father's journals and inherit warnings before turning and slipping out through my front door.

Without much intention other than curiosity, I find myself following Quinn through the streets towards the back boundary of our town. I nod at a few people as I open the smaller fence gate here and leave the town. Quinn is just walking up to the edge of the lake that makes up most of this part of our land about 35-40 yards away from the fence.

I smirk. She's very smart. At that distance, she's still just within the boundary range we gave them.

Heading down the slight hill, I watch in amusement at how fast Quinn gets into the lake. I've barely even taken a few steps and her boots are off and her pants legs are already rolled up. She hesitantly dips her toes into the water. I can't help but laugh. "I knew you'd be here," I call out to her. "I just didn't think it would be tonight. How dirty _are_ you?"

She turns around, her eyes wide. "Is it safe to go in water with this thing?" She asks, glancing down at the metal band wrapped high up around on her ankle.

"Sure," I tell her with a shrug and make my way towards her.

Her eyes narrow, skeptically. "That's very reassuring."

"You'll be fine," I promise. I welded that thing shut so well that not even air could get through it. Not that I'm going to tell _her_ that.

She inspects the anklet a moment longer before reaching to the hem of her shirt. I watch as she tugs her shirt briefly upwards, showing only the slightest amount of skin. She stops and looks up at me and catches me staring at her midriff before I can look away. "So why _are_ you here? Come to watch me bathe?" she teases.

"I brought you some clean clothes. And a towel," I say, holding out the things I took from my dresser.

She ignores the items in my hands and arches her eyebrows expectantly. "Is that all?"

She's doing this on purpose. I know she is. My eyes narrow as I study her, the teasing look on her face, the way she bites down so lightly on her bottom lip…

I lick my lips and then look back to her eyes, settling my expression. "Dinner's almost ready. And you're losing daylight. If you want to wash, you'd better hurry up."

Quinn sighs and drops her hands from the hem of her shirt. Part of me feels smug at deflecting her attempts to tease but there's another part of me, a much bigger part, that's disappointed that I stopped her. I wonder how far she would've actually gone.

I keep my face even and impassive as she studies me for another heartbeat or two. Finally, she reaches out and takes the clothes and towel from my arms and inspects them carefully. "Are these yours?" she asks.

"They're clean if that's what you're implying," I tell her mocking offense.

"Are there explosives hidden in these, too?"

I laugh. "Trust me, you don't need any more. That ankle band of yours is more than enough. If that thing blows, it'll take half of your body off." I shake my head and turn away, walking back up the hill to give her some privacy, amused at the stunned look on her face.

"I'm still not sure I believe you that there are explosives in this thing," she calls out after me.

"Oh no?" I ask. "Then why don't you go take a swim. See what happens." She rolls her eyes. "Don't worry, I'll save you something to eat," I tell her, turning back around.

I walk up the hill and get to the gate before my curiosity wins out over my stubbornness. As casually as I can manage, I toss a nonchalant look back over my shoulder. I make it as quick as possible as I completely expect her to be standing there with her arms crossed, just waiting for me to give her the satisfaction of exactly this. But she's not. Instead, I see the pile of clothes I gave her lying in a heap along the riverbank. Quinn has her back to me and is pulling her shirt the rest of the way up and over her head.

I'm immediately glad there's no one else around to hear the barely audible "damn," that escapes from my lips as I watch her reach up behind her back and unclasp her bra. She pulls herself free and I let my eyes wander over her bare back. Her pale skin. She turns slightly to be sure she's throwing the bra down on top of the pile of clothes and, as she does, I get the briefest flash of the shape of her breast.

I realize suddenly that I'm staring. I really should turn around and give her her privacy…

But then I notice her hands fall to her waist, and my eyes follow helplessly as she moves to undo the buttons of her dark pants. She undoes the last button and begins to pull down against the waistband, wriggling the fabric down over her hips, over the backs of her thighs, bending down slightly as she goes…

Suddenly the gate door opens right into me and my primary concern is stopping myself from falling over. I stumble, but manage to stay upright.

"Hey, what are you doing standing behind the door? Rachel's looking for… Wow," Puck says, interrupting himself immediately as he looks past me at Quinn.

I glance behind me briefly and immediately step in Puck's line of sight as Quinn reaches to remove the last article of clothing still on her body. "Come on, give her some privacy," I say, reaching out to spin Puck around.

"Can we, maybe, confine her to _my_ house?" he asks, and leans out around to try and get one last look.

I reach out and smack the back of his head. Hard. "Ow! Dammit, fine," he gives in and sulks, turning around to leave while rubbing the back of his head.

I push him through the gate and, despite what I just told Puck, I myself, take one last glance towards the lake. I let out a long, appreciative breath as Quinn steps into the lake completely naked, before following Puck through the fence and towards the tavern.

* * *

It's not very crowded. Most of the townspeople have deigned to stay in tonight, I suppose. But there's still a decent amount of people scattered around the tables. I spot Tina already at the bar, in the middle of her meal. Puck and I wander over and sit on either side of her.

"Hey there, doc. What brings you out of your cave?" Puck asks.

Tina arches a brow. "Really?" she asks. She points to her plate of half eaten food. "I have to eat too you know."

"Everyone all cleared to go home?" I ask.

"Yes, finally," she sighs.

I reach out and pat her on the back. "You did good, kid."

She smirks and goes back to her dinner.

Rachel comes over with two plates of food for Puck and I and I'm reminded once again how amazing this woman is. "How's your arm?" she asks me as she slides the plates in front of us. She really was waiting for us.

"Tina says we don't have to amputate, so that's good, right?" I tease, elbowing Tina in the side. Tina rolls her eyes. "It's better. Thank you," I tell her seriously.

"You're welcome," Rachel says with a proud smile.

We pick at our food in mostly silence, making an occasional comment here or there. As we are finishing up, the door opens and the place gets oddly quiet.

"Well, look at that. Here comes trouble," Puck says, looking over his shoulder at the door.

I turn my head and watch the three of them come in. To call them hesitant would be an understatement. They're practically creeping in on tip toes, ready to bolt at the first sign of alarm. I don't necessarily blame them. It must feel like stepping into the lion's den.

One of our people at the table closest to the door suddenly stands up and glares at them in warning. I ready myself to step in between, but it never gets that far. The man's wife reaches out a hand and drags him back down to his seat. He doesn't look happy about it, but thankfully goes back to angrily picking at his plate. At least Sebastian isn't with them. Could have gone a lot worse if that loudmouth came with them.

I catch Quinn's eye and nod my head down towards the empty seat next to me. She accepts my invitation and walks confidently across the room, ignoring the looks both our people and her Militia friends are giving her. I give her an almost imperceptible smile as she drops onto the stool next to mine.

"You _must _be hungry to drag yourselves in here," Puck comments.

"What, are you denying us food now?" Sam asks from behind Quinn.

"Do you want us to?" Puck snaps.

"Easy there, Mohawk," I say, reaching around Tina to pat him on the shoulder. He gives me a strange look at the new nickname. I glace at Quinn and give her a quick wink before turning in my stool. "Rachel, can you please bring our guests some food?"

She sets her jaw and looks the trio over, her eyes running across each of them with unabashed disgust. She lifts her head a little higher and wipes her hands on her pants with a nod. "Sure," she says nonchalantly, as if she doesn't care. I know it's killing her to serve them face to face. Getting her to make them plates when they were locked up was hard enough.

Rachel's eyes land on me and I smile, letting her know I appreciate her tolerating them in her tavern. I lean forward over the counter to pull out a few glasses from underneath. "Beer okay? Or would you rather have water?"

"You have beer?" Sam asks in stark surprise. Suddenly, the staring contest with Puck doesn't seem so important.

"Noah brews it himself," Rachel says proudly.

"I make moonshine too," Puck says with a shrug.

Quinn glances at Jesse and Sam and then nods. "That would be great." She pulls out the stool next to her and Jesse takes it. Sam follows with the last bar stool next to him.

Rachel puts the growler on the counter while she finishes plating their dinner. I take the liberty of pouring them each a glass full of Puck's homemade ale and hand them one at a time to each of them, ending with Quinn.

She brings the glass to her lips. "Careful, it's strong," I warn.

Quinn takes a long pull, her eyes never leaving mine or blinking. Puck lets out an impressed whistle while I smirk. The girl really does love a challenge.

"Three plates," Rachel announces, balancing them in both hands and forearm.

Jesse reaches out and helps her place them on the counter top. "Thank you," he says sincerely. I look at him curiously. Is he staring at Rachel?

Puck leans back in his chair and turns towards Sam with a sneer. "Where's your little friend? The one that won't shut his mouth," he asks, topping off his own beer.

"Trying to find a way around these restraints more than likely," Quinn snorts.

Puck eyes her curiously, Sam and Jesse not bothering to jump in on his behalf either. Puck slaps the countertop, amused by her response. "We just might get lucky and hear an explosion tonight!"

Quinn glances at me and I shrug. She looks around and then nods at the other two. "Come on," she says, taking her plate off of the counter. "Let's eat over there."

I follow her line of sight and glance at the empty table on the far end of the tavern.

Jesse hesitates, his eyes never leaving Rachel. "I think I'll stay - "

"No, you're not." Sam grabs the back of his collar and pulls him back from the counter. "We're eating over here," he says and begins to drag him away.

Jesse barely has time to grab his plate. "It looks and smells amazing! Thank you," he calls out to Rachel as Sam drags him across the tavern.

Rachel looks genuinely surprised. She hesitates momentarily. "You're welcome," she finally calls out. Jesse smiles and allows himself to be led.

I am immensely intrigued and amused to watch Rachel's cheeks change to red as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and stifles a big smile. I look at Tina who has an equally amused, shocked look on her face.

Not all of us share the same reaction. "What the hell was that?" Puck asks looking back and forth from Rachel to Jesse. He does not look happy.

"What was what?" Rachel asks innocently, dropping her hand from her hair and taking Tina's clean plate away to be washed.

"That _was_ kind of weird, Rach," Tina agrees wistfully.

"'Thanks this looks delicious'," Puck imitates in a high-pitched voice that sounds nothing like Jesse's. "Really?"

Rachel straightens her shoulders and shoots Puck a look. "Well at least _someone_ around here has manners."

"Wait a minute, I have manners," Tina protests.

Rachel turns abruptly and storms off. I look over at Tina and chuckle, not quite sure what just happened. I continue to finish my dinner when Puck leans forward and looks past Tina and straight at me.

"And what's going on with you and blondie over there?" he asks, nodding to Quinn. "Inviting her over to eat with us and watching her bathe and shit."

"Wait, _what_?" Tina asks clearly confused.

"I didn't _watch_ her do anything." Now it's my turn to shoot him a look. "What's the matter with you? Why are you so cranky?"

"I'm not cranky!" he snaps.

"You're kind of cranky," Tina agrees.

"Whatever," Puck mumbles.

I turn back to my plate and pick at the remainder my food slowly. Puck's mood is infectious and now I'm cranky right along with him. Tina seems to feel the tension. She sits between us, without saying a word and casts curious glances in both of our directions.

I hear laughter coming from the back of the tavern and I turn look over my shoulder. Quinn has her head back and the most genuine smile I have ever seen is stretched across her lips.

I can't turn away.

Just like Puck's contagious crankiness, I find that Quinn's laugh and her genuine smile make me feel instantly better. I watch her laugh again and reach out to rest her hand on Sam's forearm next to her. Whatever he's telling her almost has her in tears. I linger on the site of her hand resting against his shoulder. I see the way her eyes sparkle when she looks at him and laughs again.

Suddenly my short-lived good mood begins to melt.

I turn back around pick at my food, but I'm no longer hungry. I'm angry and hurt and I have no idea why… Well, okay, maybe I know why.

What the _hell_ is going on with me lately?

"Are you okay?" Tina asks. I nearly jump in surprise at the sound.

"Yeah," I tell her. "Just not that hungry."

I force myself to get my shit together and turn around to face Tina completely. She and I make about Mike and the state of her infirmary and I do my best to stay in the conversation. Quinn's audible laugher from over my shoulder doesn't make it easy, but I somehow manage after.

Eventually, Sam and Jesse bring their plates to the counter. Jesse proceeds to make no mystery of the fact that he's trying to catch Rachel's eye for a beer refill. Puck glares daggers at him the whole time. I glance over at Jesse and Sam, but Quinn is not with them. I hear the tavern door open and then close but I don't turn. I know she's the one who has just left.

My instinct is to follow, but my better judgment tells me to stay exactly where I am.

So I kiss Tina on the cheek, tell her goodnight and proceed to get up and follow her.

I was never one to let better judgment get in the way of instinct.

As I open the tavern door, I see her standing there, not far from the stairs. She's staring up into the night sky. I vaguely notice how instantly my body seems to relax. It isn't the first time I've noticed it, but it's the first time I realize that maybe there's something to it. I push it aside. I'll come back to that later.

I walk slowly down the stairs and glance up at the stars as I step up beside her. "Enjoy the view?" she asks, looking at me sideways, a knowing smile on her lips.

I smirk. She's definitely not talking about the stars. And I'm pretty sure she knows that I know that. "I did, actually. Thank you."

"You're repulsive," she says feigning disgust and not doing that great of a job at it.

I laugh. "Yet, I'm feeding you and letting you bathe in my lake."

She turns to face me and then points down at her ankle. "And then strapped explosives to us!"

I shrug. "I never said your freedom would be _free_."

"Funny how that works, isn't it?" she asks softly.

I look at her and I'm curious to find her expression has changed. She's staring at me, almost as if she's trying to figure something out. Maybe she's just as confused as I am.

I change the subject. "You knew I was watching," I say with a smile.

"Maybe," she says coyly after a long moment.

And in my head she's standing along the riverbank again, her back to me. Naked and uncaring. It's an image I haven't done a very good job at repressing. I try to preserve some semblance of control when I look at her.

I take a step in closer and reach my hand out to touch her without really thinking about how it might look like to anyone watching. Why I'm doing it, I don't know. Maybe it's the beer. Who knows.

"You ready?"

My hand flies back to my side instantly when I hear his voice. Quinn straightens and looks past me at Sam, who comes down from the tavern steps and over to stand beside her.

"Yeah," she says, offering him a smile. She offers me a quick glance before turning to walk away with him.

I shove my hands in my pockets and watch them walk away into the darkness.

* * *

**QUINN'S POV**

Sam gives me a sideways look as we walk further away from the tavern. "What do you think of her?"

I look over at him and then glance behind me at Santana. She's still standing in the same place, rocking back and forth on her heels with her hands shoved deep in her pockets. "Who? Santana?"

"Yeah," Sam says, taking his own quick glance back at her. "What do you think her angle is?"

"I think she's trying to keep herself and these townspeople alive," I tell him. Sometimes I forget just how much Sam I think alike until he echoes my thoughts like this. I've been racking my brain trying to figure Santana out since we got here. Only now, unlike Sam, I'm not so convinced that she _does _have an angle. Which is even more confusing.

"I think she's up to something," Sam says in a hushed tone.

"Maybe," I agree. Because, hey, maybe she is. With her history, there really is no reason for her not be up to something. Yet, I can't make myself believe that. "But she really isn't anything like they taught us, is she?"

"She's _exactly_ how they taught us." He starts ticking off the personality traits we were taught growing up. "She's ruthless, dangerous, skilled, intelligent and a little crazy," he adds, pointing to his ankle.

"Is she?" I ask looking over at him. "I don't know. She just seems… misunderstood."

Sam stops walking and reaches out to grab a hold of my arm, spinning me around to face him. "Misunderstood? Are you serious?" I glance at his fingers wrapped around my forearm. "You've always had this weird fascination with the Rebellion. I don't know why you always defend them."

"I have not, and I don't," I protest.

"You have. You always have," he says with a pointed look.

"We've always been told about the soldiers of the Rebellion, Sam. We've fought them back East. We've killed more than I can count. We hate them, they hate us. But what about the regular people? What about the people who are caught in the middle? We've never seen the war from their point of view. We just demand acceptance and supplies, and if they don't comply… they're traitors. And we treat them as such. Why is that?" I ask him. Sam looks away, uncomfortable. "Because we're _told_ to. We listen to what our commanding officers tell us, what our parents and friends tell us. What we're taught. But we're never really given a choice on how _we _see the world. We never get a chance to form our own opinions."

"They've been out there a lot longer than we have, Quinn," he tells me.

"You're right," I nod. "But that just makes me question them even more. What drives the Rebellion to hate us? I mean, what really started this war? Is it how they told us or something else? That's what I want to know." I shrug and drop some of the heat in my tone. I don't want to fight with Sam. "So yes, I might be fascinated, but it's only because I want to know both sides and make a decision for myself."

"You're a Lieutenant, Quinn. You're going to be leading a new Army soon," he reminds me. "You gave up your choice and your own decisions a long time ago."

I sigh, realizing Sam's in an arguing mood and that I'm too tired to argue back. "It's just not how I expected it to be."

"And how did you expect it to be?" he asks more gently.

I glance around the town and motion to the houses around me. "Everyone here, they're just so… normal. I mean, jeez, Sam, they gave us our own houses here. They could have kept us chained up in a basement or cellar. Or just shot us. But look at this," I say, sweeping out with my right arm to gesture at the sizeable one-story in front of me. "They just gave this to me. Enemies don't do that, Sam."

"Quinn, that's exactly the point!" He shakes his head. "You're forgetting how they chained you up in that house. Then loaded us with explosives. Or what they want us to believe are explosives." He points to the house. "And this? All of this? This is part of their plan to get us to lower our guard. You have to see that, right?" He steps closer to me and puts his hand on my shoulder. "We have the opportunity of a lifetime here, Quinn. If we brought down Santana Lopez, we'd be guaranteed a higher rank, more provisions, better weapons. We'd be famous."

"I've already thought of that," I mumble. I turn and walk towards my temporary place of residence.

Sam jogs to catch up. "So why aren't you coming up with a plan?" he whispers loudly, glancing around to make sure no one is listening in.

We walk up the path to the small one story house. "Because there's not much we can do. We just have to wait it out until help arrives. Even then, it could be weeks before someone figures out we're here."

"Exactly!" he says, excitedly. "So that's why we need to act now!"

I push the door open and step into the house, spinning around to face Sam. "What do you want to do, Sam?" I ask him, exasperated. "You said it yourself. We have bombs strapped to our legs. And even if we didn't, we'd have to find a way to sneak out because we sure as hell can't take on the entire town."

"I know," he agrees. "I'm just worried about you. You seem distant, like you're pulling away." He takes a couple steps towards me and reaches out to push the hair out of my face. He tucks it gently behind my ear and cups the side of my face.

"Sam…" With a heavy sigh I close my eyes and place my hand over his, gently removing it from my face.

"You seem so stressed. I just thought we could -"

"I don't feel that way about you anymore," I interject immediately. I know exactly where this is going.

Sam reaches out and takes my hand in his own. "It doesn't have to be like that," he tries. "It can be just two friends finding comfort in a difficult situation."

"Sam," I sigh, pulling my hand away. "We tried that, remember?" The last time I gave into that line he didn't fully follow the boundaries that were set. The friendship line blurred pretty fast and he went back to doting on me like we did when we were in an actual relationship. It's not at all something I want to deal with again.

To his credit, he doesn't push any further. He nods his head and gives me a sad smile. "Thank you for walking me back," I tell him sincerely.

He looks at me for a moment and nods, knowing that that's his cue to leave. "Just think about what I said," he says lightly. Whether he means coming up with a plan or taking comfort in his arms I'm not sure.

He stands and bends over and kisses me lightly on the cheek before quietly leaving the house.

Once upon a time it would've made me swoon, would've made me lightheaded and giddy to have his affection. Now it just makes me kind of sad.

* * *

I dip the washcloth in the water, relishing the feel of the cool liquid wash across my face.

I think back to what Sam said the night before. My weird fascination with the Rebellion. He's not entirely wrong. But it isn't so much the Rebellion itself - although I've always been interested what drove them and why they did the things that they did - but more my so my overactive imagination on how to get under my father's skin.

He loved teaching me about them. Making sure that I absorbed every last detail I could about them as a collective group. Testing and studying me to see how I interpreted their strategies for myself. It was part of my "training", and he was always very passionate about it. He said it was his little girl aspiring to become the next General of the Militia.

After years of "training", I started to pay less attention to Rebellion camp movements and gave more thought as to just how he'd react if I told him I wanted nothing to do with becoming General. That I wanted nothing to do with the war. Not really meaning it, but just to see his face you know?

I hated having to please him. Having to be the best of the best so he could parade me around to all of the ranked Militia personnel and gain more personal favor with them. I hated living my life the way _he_ wanted me to live it.

It wasn't so much that I felt he didn't care about me. My dad loved me very much. Growing up, I wanted for nothing. I was a spoiled, for sure. But even though it took me a long while and some serious, unpleasant soul-searching, I eventually came to the sad realization that Russell Fabray wasn't bringing up his darling little girl like other dads; he was raising a commanding officer to eventually replace him. To finish everything he had started.

It's not an assumption you arrive at easily and it's still one that hurts to even think about, but it is what it is.

So at an early age, I started to "rebel" against him in my own way. No snacks after dinner? I'd smuggle an apple up from the kitchen into my bedroom. Go into strategies and planning and a nice safe desk job? I enlisted for the front lines. Specialize in long range weaponry? I opt for the daggers. Just little things to remind my father that he may be the General but he couldn't control me like he wanted.

I also think about how obsessed he was with Cale Lopez. He hated him more than he hated the Rebellion as a collection. I asked him once as a child why he hated him so much. What I received was a harsh slap across the face and a warning to never ask that question again.

But even though I never brought it up again, it was always the central part of my studies. Everything I was taught came back around to Cale Lopez. How to bring him down, what he was like as a person, how he fought…

It eventually trickled down to Santana and how she was just as awful as Cale. To repeat Sam's words, she was ruthless, dangerous, skilled, intelligent and a little crazy.

I think that's why I was so fascinated with Cale and Santana Lopez. We were both little girls following in their father's footsteps. So what made us so different?

When Cale blew himself up, my dad had a celebration. He drank until he passed out and woke up the next morning insisting on celebrating some more. I couldn't understand why he was so pleased. Yes, a high ranking Rebel was gone, but I never quite understood the personal hatred he had for Cale.

And I didn't dare ask him again.

I wasn't as excited as my dad. Of course I was happy the Rebellion took such a blow, but I couldn't help but feel sad for his daughter. She had just lost her dad.

She was the girl who loved her father so much that, when he died, went on an incredibly deadly, revenge-fueled rampage that cut through the Militia in historical numbers. Our propaganda made a big show of telling it as if she'd spent years carefully planning the destruction to bring us down. Me? I don't think she gave a damn about what it might do to our numbers. I think she did it out of blind anguish for the father she loved so very much and abruptly lost. Which is something that I can truly only imagine, because I've never come close to feeling that sort of love for my own dad.

And she was free. Truly free. She could make her own choices, go where she wanted, and do what she wanted. I never had that. I had to earn my rank to earn the little amount of freedom that I have today.

I envied her for that. But it also made me hate her.

Looking back now, it's easy to call it a brainwashing. But back then, growing up in the house I did, it wasn't obvious to me that my dad was training me more than raising me. But at the end of the day he was still my dad. And much like most other girls, I wanted to make him proud of me. I wanted to show him that I could become the strong, powerful woman that he could brag to his friends about.

I was torn. I wanted to defy him, yet, I wanted to please him.

Even to this day I haven't decided which is more appealing.

I suddenly hear a small commotion. I finish my quick "bath" by dragging the washcloth across the front of my chest and drape it across the edge of the bowl. I pull a white cloth t-shirt over my head and make my way outside, squinting against the morning sun.

Santana and Mike are greeting someone at the gate. It's a teenage boy, probably a courier by the looks of it. Mike hands him a canteen of water and I see them talking. But I can't hear what they are saying.

I see Rachel watching close by and I step up next to her. "Morning."

She glances at me and straightens. I know she doesn't like me. But she doesn't walk away from me either. "Morning," she says curtly.

"What's going on?" I ask curiously.

"Courier is here," she says like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

I watch curiously. Santana reaches out takes a letter from the boy. She opens it up while Mike continues to make small talk. After a moment, I notice Santana's entire posture change as she reads the letter. Her shoulders appear to tense up, her mouth forms into a small, straight line.

When she's finished, she folds up the letter and sticks it in her back pocket. She looks at the boy and tells him something before reaching out and ruffling his hair. She says goodbye, gives Mike a quick glance and turns to walk away.

I'm not sure what's going on but whatever it is can't be good. Not with the way she tensed. I look over at Rachel and I know she's thinking the same thing.

Santana walks in our direction, her head down, lost in thought.

"What did it say?" Rachel asks as she passes.

Santana looks over at her, surprised to see her standing there. Her lips turn upwards. "Brittany had her baby," she says in a daze. She's smiling, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "It's a boy," she adds.

Rachel doesn't say anything. Santana nods and then keeps walking past.

I'm completely confused. Why is she so tense over the news of a baby being born? "Who's Brittany?" I turn and ask Rachel.

"The love of Santana's life," Rachel says seriously. I turn back to Santana as she walks towards her house.

The love of her life?

I don't know what's more surprising; hearing that there's a love of Santana's life or how indescribably hurt I suddenly feel hearing about it.

* * *

I'm not even sure what time it is but I know it's pretty late. Which is why I'm surprised to see that the lights are still on in the tavern. My curiosity carries me across the street towards the lights and the muffled sound of music playing. I walk up the front steps and open the door cautiously, looking around the surprisingly busy room. There are a dozen or so people hanging around as their music box plays in the corner. Whatever is playing is something I've never heard before. Rachel looks up at me in the doorway, frowns and goes back to wiping down the counter.

My eyes scanover the crowd until they notice the lone figure in the back darkened corner. I see the tall glass in front of her, but notice that the dark amber liquid inside hasn't been touched. Instead, she's leaning on her forearms, staring down at the table top, lost in thought.

I make my way over to her.

"I find it a little creepy that the big, badass Santana Lopez is sulking in a dark corner alone."

Her eyes lift to meet mine, surprised to see me. "I'm not sulking," she says, defensively.

"You are. I could clearly see your lower lip poking out. You're pouting."

"Go to hell, Fabray," she mumbles.

I can't help but laugh at that. "I think I might already be there."

She regards me with narrowed eyes and for a minute I'm sure she's going to tell me to fuck off. Instead, she lifts her foot up to the chair next to her, resting the pad of her foot on the edge of the seat, and pushes. The chair slides out from under the table as she nods towards it, inviting me to join her.

I take a seat and she leans back in her chair, watching me curiously. "How often does that courier of yours come by?"

"Why? Planning on sneaking him an SOS?" she asks.

"Me? No," I chuckle. "Sebastian however…"

Santana nods in understanding, a small smile appearing on her lips. "Well by the time the next courier comes, the Militia will be closing in on us anyway."

Her eyes meet mine. She knows they're coming with or without our release. Of course she does. She's 'the Daughter of the Rebellion'. She knows much more than she lets on. This has me even more curious about her.

"Let's play a game," I suggest.

Her eyebrow rises slowly. I've caught her by surprise. "A game?"

"Honesty hour," I tell her. I reach for her untouched beer and pull it towards me. I take a big swig and set it back down. "For a certain amount of time we have to tell each other the truth. Complete honesty."

She squints at me, looking both suspicious and intrigued at the same time. "How would we even know that we're telling each other the truth?"

"I guess we'll just have to trust each other," I challenge.

She reaches out and pulls her beer back towards her. "How about a question limit. Three questions each."

I can't help but smile, surprised that she would agree. "Complete honesty?"

"Complete honesty."

"Okay. You go first," I tell her.

She thinks for a moment. A small smile finally forming on her lips. She takes a long pull from her beer and then leans forward on the table. Her eyes sparkle in the low light. "What do your people say about me?"

I roll my eyes. Of course she'd ask that. "If by 'people' you mean the Militia, they say all sorts of things. They teach us from an early age about you and your father. They talk about how dangerous you are. And how great the reward will be if you're ever caught or killed. You're their number one threat." She looks impressed. "Most of the ones who have seen you fight, and have lived to tell about it, think that you're 'death incarnate'. You fight with determined precision and everything is well thought out. They say that you're smart. They're scared of you."

"Go on," she tells me with a wide grin.

"I don't think your ego needs anymore inflating," I say with another roll of my eyes.

"I don't know what makes you think I have an ego," she says with a smirk.

I reach out and pull the beer towards me. "My turn," I say, taking a sip. "Who's Brittany?" Just like that.

The arrogant smile drops from Santana's lips. She is at once a completely different person, quiet and withdrawn. There's an obvious sad look on her face that makes me instantly regret asking the question. Although, if I'm being honest, that one question was my main reason for even playing this game. Sure, I have a million other things I could ask her, but that was the one I couldn't shake. But I can't help but feel like a terrible person for the pain this question is clearly causing her. I go to tell her to forget, that it was a dumb game anyway, before she answers.

"She's a girl that I used to love," she says after a deep, shaky breath. Her eyes lift to the beer and she reaches out for it, pulling it back to her. "A long time ago."

I watch as she takes several, long sips. "Do you still love her?"

"No," she says. "At least I don't think so," she adds with a confused look on her face. "Next. What's going on with you and Sam?"

"Jealous?" I ask with a smirk.

"No, just curious," she says with a shrug.

"We were together when we were teenagers. My dad wanted me to marry him but… I was just never in love with him. I thought I was a long time ago. But…" I trail off. There isn't much else to say about it. That really does sum it up.

"But he still has feelings for you," she supplies.

"He hasn't given up hope that maybe I'll change my mind," I agree.

She watches me for a moment, her eyes scanning my face. I think about asking her what she's thinking, but instead I choose to wait to see what she'll ask me. My eyes stay on hers as she debates her next question.

Finally, she tilts her head to the side curiously. "Do you like your father?"

I'm a little startled by that question. I wasn't expecting something like that. 'What's your father planning?' I would expect. But not this. To say it throws me a little would be an understatement. "He's my father. Of course I love him."

"That's not what I asked," she points out gently.

I look away from her, careful not to show just how much I'm struggling with the question. My entire life I've been judged by who my father is. Certain behavior has been expected of me since I was a child. I've never really questioned it; I've just always gone along with it. But when it comes down to it… When it comes down to my relationship with my father and how I really feel towards him, I've always bottled it up inside. I've never let my true feelings show.

I finally look back at her. She's watching me with a curious expression. There's no judgment, no accusation, just… curiosity and maybe a little bit of sympathy. I suddenly realize that if there's anyone that might understand my complicated relationship with my father, it would be her. "No. I don't like my dad," I admit softly. Her expression changes to understanding and somehow I feel exposed and vulnerable. It makes me uncomfortable. I reach for the beer. "Okay, my turn."

"You already asked your three," she says, pushing the glass towards me.

I look at her, confused. "I did not!"

"You did. 'Who's Brittany, do you still love her, and you asked me if I was jealous,'" she says, ticking the questions off on her fingers.

"Those do _not_ count," I protest. "They were extensions of responses you gave."

"They all sounded like they had question marks on the end of them to me," she says with a shrug. "You made the rules. I'm just following them."

Despite my small attempted protest, I know she's right. She's beaten me at my own game. I bring the glass to my mouth and try and hide the blush I know is making its way up my cheeks. "You are such a conceited ass," I mumble.

"So I've been told," she says with a smirk.

I put the glass down and I know I'm pouting. It's childish and ridiculous but I can feel that I am. I rarely lose. At anything. And I am rarely caught in a situation that makes me look foolish. I'm not used to it and I'm not sure how to proceed. And I'm disappointed I didn't get to ask her anything of substance. I had one chance to ask her something meaningful and I screwed it up.

She sighs heavily and leans back in her chair, her hands in the air like she's surrendering. "Okay, okay. I'll give you one more," she relents and smiles at me. "Even though the pout is kind of cute."

I narrow my eyes and take another sip of her beer before pushing it away.

I vaguely entertain the idea of not asking her anything else, but the temptation is too great.

I want to make this one count. I shuffle through the infinite amount of questions bouncing back and forth in my head. Finally, I settle on the question I have wondered since I arrived. The one that's been nagging at me the most. "You used to be the most deadly woman on the planet. Everyone feared you. You were this force to be reckoned with. And now you're here, ducking away in this quaint little town. Why?"

Her smirk fades and she looks away, running her hand through her hair. I know instantly that I've asked the right question. That I've found the single most important question I could've asked. And I know, by the sad look in her eyes, that she's not going to hold back with me.

"Sometimes you find out that what you've spent your whole life fighting for isn't worth _giving_ your life for." Her eyes meet mine briefly. I understand exactly what she means. "When my father died, my entire world died with him. I was a kid, left alone, angry, hurt and confused. So I left. I ran. I vowed to kill every single Militia I came across to avenge my father's death. I blocked out the world and threw myself in that hatred. I killed… hundreds of people before I was even 18 years old. I separated myself from Will and I just… went on a rampage. I ran into him from time to time, but I separated myself from him too, you know?

"I went from town to town, soaking in the praise and worship they gave me. I was their champion. But I felt empty inside. Hollow. And then one day I woke up and I just… didn't have any fight left in me. Five years of nothing but bloodshed and suddenly I didn't want to do it anymore. So again, I ran from who I was, who I was raised to be.

"I wandered into a town. This really big and important looking town. There was this old man there, George, he kind of took me in and convinced everyone to let me stay, to get my head on straight. I stayed for a year before moving on. I needed to find a place for me. I'd already imposed on George and the town long enough.

"I didn't get far before I saw a bunch of Raider's attacking the place we are now. They were doing a pretty good job defending their walls, but I knew if I didn't help, they'd make it past the gates and take over the town. So I did what I did best: I fought. I threw myself at the Raider's. Puck told me later it looked like I had a death wish." She laughs sadly. "Maybe I did. I almost died. I got banged up pretty bad. Broken arm, fractured leg, more stitches than I could count, a pretty bad blow to the head, my wrist was all fucked up...

"Once they were in the clear, they took me in. Tina helped set me straight and Rachel…," she lifts her eyes to look past me at Rachel talking to some of the townspeople sitting at the bar. She smiles sadly. "Rachel stitched me up and never left my side. Not once." Her eyes meet mine. "When I was well enough to start wandering around on my own, I wanted to repay them. For saving my life. I helped around with Rachel's garden, with the livestock, repairs... anything to earn my keep. They gave me a house. Said I was welcome to live there for as long as I wanted. That I earned a place with them, that I saved their lives. But if it hadn't been for them, for this place…" She leans back in chair with a sigh. "I have a normal life here. I have friends, I have a family."

Her eyes meet mine again. "I'm not hiding. I'm just trying to move on from being the woman I was _expected_ to be and start being the woman I _want_ to be."

I am utterly stunned at the answer she gave me. I never expected her to be so open, so honest. Especially not with me, someone who is a part of the group of people she hates so deeply. I am at a loss for words.

I was taught so many awful things about her. But what I never expected was to find her to be so…vulnerable. So complicated. So broken. Her eyes meet mine and I can see her apprehension, her hesitation and sadness. It breaks my heart to see.

And just like that, it's gone.

She downs the remainder of the beer and takes a deep breath. "I don't know about you, but I'm wiped. I think I'm going to go get some sleep." I watch as she pushes herself from the table and stands. She waves briefly to Rachel and turns to leave.

I watch as she goes towards the door, still dumbstruck at all she just shared with me.

Santana steps through the door and I scramble to get out of my chair and rush after her.

When I finally catch up to her, it takes us several steps in the opposite direction of her house before I realize that we're walking in the direction of my lodgings. I glance at her, wondering why she's walking me back. I want to ask her, but I can't seem to find my voice. Her eyes are focused straight ahead, her hands shoved deep in her pockets.

We walk the entire way in silence.

As we approach the slight walkway up to the front door, I realize that I still have no words to express how I'm feeling. I'm still trying to process all that just happened. What was supposed to be a simple game turned into something much more serious; much more personal.

She confided in me something very few people would ever share with anyone let alone their enemy. And I'm not sure why she did it. Does this mean she trusts me? Or is she toying with me? Is this what Sam was warning me about? Am I letting my guard down completely?

We come to a stop in front of the house and we stand facing each other. "Thanks for the beer," I say awkwardly.

"No problem," she says, glancing up towards the sky.

With a sigh, I reach behind me for the handle to the door. "Thank you, for being so honest with me," I tell her. "And please don't say it was because I asked."

She laughs lightly. It makes me smile.

Soon after, my smile fades and I take a deep breathing, turning the knob and pushing open the door. "Goodnight, I guess."

"Goodnight, Quinn."

It's something about the way she says my name. So softly, like she knows if she utters it any louder this moment will be over and forgotten.

I lift my eyes to hers, the moon just bright enough in the sky to make her face visible. Her eyes sparkle as she looks at me, her expression so open that it tugs at my chest. Every moment spent with her draws me further in, enticing me to know every single detail about her. I feel as if I'm helpless to stop it.

My eyes drop to her lips and without realizing what I'm doing, the distance between us has vanished and my lips are pressing lightly against hers.

For a brief moment, all that surrounds me is softness. The softness of her lips against my own. The softness of her skin as my fingers trail down the length of her arm…

And then my brain catches back up to my heart and I realize what I'm doing. Mortified, I step away from her, backing towards the door of the house. "I… I didn't mean… I don't know why…" I can't seem to form a complete sentence. I'm utterly humiliated.

I can feel my face burning with embarrassment as I turn around to quickly enter the house, hating myself for what I just did.

The room is dark and I can't see anything but I don't care. I want the darkness to swallow me whole.

I make my way to the center of the room and squeeze my eyes shut. What the hell was I thinking? Why did I do that? I've done some stupid things in my life, but kissing Santana Lopez was probably the dumbest, single most stupid thing I have ever –

I feel a tug on my arm and suddenly I'm being spun around. Before I can comprehend exactly what's happening, her hands are in my hair and her lips are firmly on mine. She's kissing me with such confidence and hunger that it literally takes my breath away.

And as I feel her tongue slide against mine I realize, kissing Santana Lopez just might be the single most incredible thing I have ever experienced.


	7. Chapter 7

**QUINN'S POV**

_Her fingers rake through my hair as she pulls me closer, her lips crushing against my own. _

_It all takes me by complete surprise. I'm thoroughly dazed, my brain and body out of synch as the two try and catch up to what's going on. But as my body is pulled into hers and her mouth sucks roughly on my lower lip, my hands come up to grab desperately at her forearms. I stop thinking and just react._

_I press back against her and the kiss deepens. All at once, her tongue searches out and meets mine. It's hot, wet, desperate and perfect…_

"Here you are!"

The voice snaps me out of my memory and I turn my head to find Sam making his way down the slight hill and towards the edge of the lake. I give him the best smile I can and hope it doesn't look as distant and forced as it feels. Right now, all I want is some personal space to think back about my night with Santana and put some sense to it.

He stops beside me and sits, pushing the long grass to the side. "I went to find you to see if you wanted to go find some breakfast, but you weren't there," he says with a small smile.

"I couldn't sleep," I tell him, running a hand through my damp hair.

"Too many thoughts running through your head?"

I almost laugh out loud. "That would be an understatement."

Sam turns his body towards mine and reaches out to pick at the grass. "Wanna talk about it?"

I'm not sure how I want to answer that. I'm certainly not about to tell him about my shared kisses with Santana. And even if I did, the inevitable and immediate follow up questions wouldn't have answers. I still don't know what last night was all about. More to the point; Sam would surely take the news like a slap in the face. Not that I blame him. Instead of thinking about how to get us out of our current situation, I'm kissing our captor.

"Not really," I say decline apologetically.

"Ouch," he says with a wince. "Is this about what happened last night?" I can feel my eyes go wide. There's no way he could know. He leans in towards me. "With us?" He clarifies.

I sigh in relief. Now I'm just being paranoid. There was no way anyone saw us kissing in the darkened house.

He arches a brow as he anxiously awaits my answer. "No, no it's not that," I tell him. "I'm just trying to figure out what to do."

"Well, that's one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you," Sam says a bit warily. "Sebastian says he has a plan."

"Really?" I mutter. I'm not terribly surprised. It was only a matter of time before Sebastian got actively involved.

"He wants to talk to us."

I roll my eyes at the thought of entertaining Sebastian's - I'm sure - "brilliant" plan. "This should be interesting."

"No kidding. He's been holed up in that room of his for so long, who knows what he's come up with." It's then that Sam gives me a curious look, his eyes back on my hair. "Did you go for a swim?"

"Better," I tell him with a smile. I reach for the bar of soap next to me, resting on a towel. I hold it up in front of Sam's face. "I _bathed_."

His eyes go wide and he reaches out, snatching it from my hand. "How long have you had soap?"

"Would you like to borrow it?" I ask sarcastically as he examines it in his hands. I glance down at the dirt on his shirt, primarily around his collar. "Maybe wash your clothes too while you're at it?"

"Hey, I would love to have someone bring _me_ a clean pair of clothes," he jibes, making a show of the borrowed clothes that I'm wearing.

I can feel my face flush. Images of her gripping the front of this very shirt tightly in her hands and pulling me against her, flashes through my mind. "It was very nice of her," I say finally.

"Yeah, well, it's not my fault we only have three Militia issued uniforms. And my soap is still in the backpack that they refuse to give back to us," he grumbles.

I can't help but laugh. He's got a point. What good is giving us our spare clothes if we can't wash them? "At least they gave us our clothes," I offer halfheartedly.

"I'd like the rest of my stuff back too, dammit," Sam says with a serious pout. "How long are they going to make us wait?"

"Here," I say and toss him my towel. "While you wait, feel free to wash up."

He looks at me and then at the bar of soap. Then suddenly he's ripping the shirt from his body and trying to slip off his boots. I laugh at how fast he undresses. And just like that and a quick blur of skin later, I see him jump excitedly into the water.

* * *

"Is it just me, or this place abnormally creepy?" Sam asks as we walk up the several concrete steps to the front door.

"I think it's the tenant," I tell him with a sideways smile.

Before we're even at the top step, the door in front of us opens slightly and out pops Sebastian's head. He looks up and down the street and motions for us to speed up. "Hurry," he urges.

Sam looks at me and then back at Sebastian. "Is this a secret meeting?"

Sebastian pushes the door open just enough for us to slip through, giving one last look down the street. "I just don't like _those people_ watching me."

"Whoa," Sam says, coming to halt inside of the small, near pitch black building. He reaches out to keep Sebastian from closing the door and shutting out the light seeping in. "Maybe you should push back those curtains. Unless, of course, you can both see in the dark."

I snort and walk over to the closest window and push the dark curtains to the side, flooding the room with light. Ignoring the sound of protest from Sebastian, I look around the dilapidated room. The second floor has at some point collapsed, leaving a staircase to nowhere and a ceiling with dark marks from years of water damage.

But it isn't the state of the house that catches my attention; I've grown accustomed to war torn buildings that were abandoned without repair. It's the pile of random items off to the side of this room, however, that gives me pause.

There is a medium-sized pile of clothes bunched up in the corner. Alongside the clothes, there is also a decent sized accumulation of fruits, vegetables, bread and a bunch of other miscellaneous items.

Sam notices this small horde of things about the same time I do. He turns and looks at me, the surprise clearly evident on his face.

Sebastian casually walks over to the pile and tosses a blanket over top of it. Not before snatching a roll from the stack of food.

I'm stunned. "Sebastian! You're stealing from them?"

"Is that what you've been doing creeping around?" Sam asks, with a surprising amount of disapproval in his voice. Staging an uprising and escape against our "captors" is one thing, but apparently stealing crosses a moral line for Sam.

Sebastian rolls his eyes and scarfs down the roll in a bite or two. "They think they're so smart, strapping us with these 'bombs' so we won't leave. Most of them don't even lock their doors! It's ridiculous."

"Sebastian, you can't steal from them," I say, rubbing my forehead and closing my eyes. We haven't been here for five minutes and he's already giving me a headache.

"Like hell I can't!" he says angrily. "They stole my things! And according to Militia Law Article 6 Section 4, those of non-Militia affiliation -"

"Give it a rest," Sam says, rolling his eyes.

"It's insulting!" Sebastian spits back venomously.

"We're prisoners of war, what did you expect?" Sam scoffs with a laugh. "I'm surprised they haven't locked us in a basement and starved us to death, to be honest. You've lost your mind, brother."

Suddenly Sebastian is advancing on Sam. I step between then and hold my hand out, stopping Sebastian from moving closer and doing something stupid. "Just tell us why we're here. What's this plan of yours?"

After a long beat, Sebastian looks away from Sam and at me. "At first I was thinking, the next time a courier comes to town, we can slip -"

"It won't work," I say, cutting him short.

There's that exasperated look again. "Why not?" he part asks, part whines.

I cross my arms over my chest. "Another courier isn't due by for weeks. By then, the battalion will be here. It'll be too late for any kind of letter."

"Okay, plan B," he says, undeterred. "We get these damn things off of our legs," he says and points to the metal band around his own ankle. "I'm still not convinced these things are rigged to explode, but these people are terrorists. And," he says and lowers his voice conspiratorially, "I'm pretty sure the key to them is around Lopez's neck." He licks his lips and rubs his hands together and looks as proud as if this is the most brilliant thing anyone has ever said about anything.

I stiffen at the mere mention of her name.

Sebastian doesn't seem to notice. "All we need to do - "

"No," I say sharply, interrupting again. Even Sam turns to me surprised. Whatever it is he's going to say I don't want to hear it. Not if it involves anything with Santana directly. Not while the only thing I canthink about is trying to find another moment alone with her. "She's too dangerous," I recover quickly. "Too dangerous to get that close. You've all heard the same stories as I have about her."

Sam steps forward. "Well, maybe Sebastian has a point," he says thoughtfully. "We get these things off our ankles, bomb or not, and we've got a lot more options to work with. And, hell," he adds, looking over at me, "you've been able to get some one on one time with her, so it's not completely out of the question. If we can make some sort of poison or some sort of mixture to make her pass out, then maybe we have a real shot at getting that key."

"So…" I start slowly, "You want to drug her when she's alone and then slip the key off from around her neck?"

"Yes," Sebastian says simply.

"It's risky, but it might be worth talking about," Sam agrees.

Sebastian has this… smug look on his face. I hate it. And I hate that he actually came up with a decent plan.

"And what if the key doesn't go to the ankle bands?" I challenge. "What if it belongs to something else? And even if it does unlock the bands - what will we do once they're off? Run?" I shake my head. "They have snipers watching the perimeter and double that come night fall. We'll never make it past the gates."

"Then we break into their armory and arm ourselves! We fight back!" Sebastian says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "One goes for the key, one for the weapons, and the other two can be on-point lookouts."

I sigh. Sebastian was never one for subtlety. Or thinking things all the way through, for that matter. Before he landed under my command, he was always part of the Militia that relished in burning down villages that refused to comply with Militia demands. He was every bit a bully with far too much power.

He strived for a higher rank, to command his own company or battalion, but his reckless and poor planning was his downfall. He never did make it any higher than private first class. I know it infuriates him to have to answer to me. He idols my father but despises me. He's made that quite clear in the weeks he's had to serve under me.

I sigh and shake my head. "Your plan is dangerous and risky. I'll have to think more about it."

Sebastian does a double take. It's clear that isn't the answer he was hoping for. "That's it? You'll 'think about it'?"

"I'm not deciding anything tonight," I tell him. There's no point in coming up a plan until I can sort through everything in my head. I'm not about to let Sebastian run loose against this town, specifically Santana. She'd more than likely kill him if he so much as blinks funny around her, but there's always that outside chance that he could get the jump on her and well… I'm just not okay with that right now.

Sebastian shakes his head and gives me quite possibly the most disgusted look of pure hatred I have ever seen. "You're just as bad as the rest of them. Your father would disown you if he knew if you were just lying down and taking it."

That gets Sam moving again. "What did you just say?" He takes another step closer to Sebastian. His fists are balled up tight at his sides.

Sebastian doesn't seem to notice. His attention is solely on me. "You don't deserve to be a Lieutenant. You don't deserve to command anyone, let alone the Mid-Western Army. You can't even get us out of this shit for nothing town. Most of our unit is dead and you're too much of a coward to do anything other than twiddle your thumbs and let these Rebel lovers order you around."

"You're out of line," Sam warns him.

He glances at Sam momentarily. "Somebody has to do something! You two are just wandering around clueless and Jesse following that cook around like a little lovesick puppy. Isn't that where he is now? Sweeping her floors? So pathetic."

Sam starts forward, but I beat him to it. I step up to Sebastian, my face in his, taking up all of his personal space as I stare up at him. "Remember your rank," I warn. "I didn't want you to join this mission. I didn't want for you to be part of the Mid-Western Army at all. You were appointed for your marksmanship and that is the _only_ reason you are here. Keep your little opinions to yourself. Your job, your _only _job is to follow _my_ orders and do what you're told. Is that understood?"

He straightens and looks away from me. I can tell from the vacant stare he's fighting hard not to snap. To his credit, he doesn't. "Yes, ma'am," he mumbles almost imperceptibly.

I can see his jaw clenching and unclenching as I remain standing in his space. "I've put up with your attitude and your insubordination for far too long. If you step out of line again, I'll push you out of the gates and watch you explode. Is _that_ understood?"

"Yes, ma'am."

I stare at him for another beat before turning and walking out of the house, leaving the door wide open as I do. It's too bad I don't have my gun. I could really shoot something right now.

* * *

**SANTANA'S POV**

"Stay on target! Stay on target!" Blaine mumbles as he slowly reels in his line.

I smile and look over at him. He has his tongue sticking slightly out of the corner of his mouth while he concentrates. His hair is a mess. It's sticking in every direction while his big eyes focus on the bobber on the end of the line as it consistently drops below the surface.

Fishing with Blaine has always been one of my favorite things to do. Especially after my father died.

My eyes drop to the chain around his neck. It's come loose from underneath his shirt. The chain fits him better now that he's an adult, but I still remember the first time I saw him wearing it.

_I'm nine years old. My father and I are on our way back to our house with three rabbits we had successfully snared earlier that day. _

_I'm talking up a storm telling my father I wanted to try and skin the rabbits myself without his help. And that even though I loved spending any kind of time with him, I thought I preferred fishing to hunting. The more I babble, the more he just nods and laughs. _

_"When is Uncle Will coming back? He's been gone a long time," I ask idly. But he doesn't answer. Instead, he stops in his tracks, causing me to bump into his side. I look up at him confused. "Dad?"_

_"Shh," he says quietly, his eyes focused straight ahead. _

_I follow his line of sight until I see it too. Movement in the grass. "What is that? Is it an animal?" I ask in a loud whisper._

_He's squinting. "I don't know. I don't think so."_

_"Maybe it's hurt," I say walking towards it. _

_"Careful, Santana," my father tells me, grabbing me by the arm and yanking me back behind him. _

_I try to look around him to catch a better glimpse at the animal but I can't see past my father's arm still draped across my body. _

_Slowly, he leads the way. As we draw closer to the shifting shape, I'm shocked to see that it's not an animal at all. My father stops with a startled gasp and I push his arm away and look past him down at the thing in the grass. He has wild hair and wide eyes and an equally startled expression on his face. His clothes are town and dirty. My mouth drops open and I jump out from behind my father to stand over top of him. "It's a boy!"_

_"It sure is," my father drawls. He crouches down slowly, making sure to keep his distance from the boy. "Are you out here alone?" he asks. The boy doesn't answer. He stares at my father with a terrified expression and clutches his backpack tightly to his chest. My father looks around. "Where are your parents?"_

_"I think he's lost," I venture. I crouch down, mimicking my father. "Are you lost?" The boy's eyes snap to mine. He's covered in dirt and shaking like a leaf. _

_"Where did you come from?" my father asks softly._

_We wait for the boy to answer but he never does. _

_"Why don't he talk?" I ask, looking up at my father. _

_"Why _doesn't_ he talk, miji," he corrects me. _

_I roll my eyes, still waiting on an answer. "Well? Why _doesn't_ he?"_

_"I don't know. He's pretty scratched up," he says, examining him carefully. "Have you been wandering for a long time?" _

_"He looks hungry. Are you hungry?" I ask._

_"He_ is_ a little scrawny," my father agrees._

_"Let's at least give him some food," I beg. There aren't many children close by. I would love to spend some time with someone my own age. Even if he is kinda quiet. _

_"I think we can manage that," my father says with a smile. "Would you like some lunch?" _

_The boy looks from me to my father and back to me. I nod encouragingly and point to the rabbits in my father's hand. Slowly, he stands, still clutching his bag tightly. "I'm Santana," I tell him, extending my hand to his. Hesitantly, he reaches out to take my hand in his. "What's your name?" I ask, hoping he has one._

_He glances down at a metal square dangling against his chest. It's attached to a long metal chain and it looks way too big for him. I look down at it and see a bunch of words and numbers. I look up at my father, not making much sense of it. My father glances at it, his eyes seeming to know just where to look. His smile falters briefly as he looks over the tag, but reappears just as quickly as he looks back up at the boy. "It's nice to meet you, Blaine. I'm Cale."_

_"Come on, Blaine," I say happily. I give him a gentle tug and lead him in the direction of my house. "Don't worry. You'll be safe with me. I'll show you around. And my mom makes the best food."_

_"Easy there, kiddo. He seems a little skittish," my father says from behind me._

_But I don't care. I'm excited to show him all around the place that I live. "Can we keep him, dad?" _

_My father laughs. "We'd better ask your mother."_

_I glance at the boy next to me. He's dirty, pretty banged up and a little on the skinny side, but I know we'll fix him up. I feel his hand squeeze mine and suddenly I'm happier than I think I've ever been. I have a friend. And his name is Blaine._

"It didn't go in. Just a pecking on the surface," Blaine says sadly and drops reels his line back in.

I look up from his necklace and smile as I reach out to pat him on the back. Blaine's been with me ever since that day we found him in the field. He's my best friend, my brother. He's been there through everything. I don't know what I'd do without him.

It took him just over a year to start talking to us. He had an old portable movie player, or moving pictures as we like to call them, that my father helped him restore. At first we had no idea what he was talking about when he did finally speak. It was my mother who realized he was communicating with us by using lines in all those moving pictures he would watch.

I didn't really understand _why _chose that form of communicating but it didn't matter. He was talking and that was enough for me.

He casts me a look at that says, 'oh well,' and grabs another piece of bait. Within seconds he's got raw crab meat on the hook, ready to cast again. We sit in our familiar silence. It's moments like these that I'm about as comfortable as I imagine I'll ever be. Blaine doesn't have to say a word for me to know just what he's thinking. For us, this _is_ a conversation.

He casts curious looks my way, never lingering, but patiently waiting. He knows I have something on my mind. It's why we're out here, away from everyone else. He's just waiting for me to tell him exactly why. Just as I can read him wordlessly, so can he with me.

Finally, I let out a long breath and groan. There's no point in waiting him out any longer. He has the patience of a saint. "I kissed Quinn," I blurt out. His eyebrows lift high on his head and he turns to me. "Last night," I elaborate.

"Not just any kiss, the kiss of true love," he says, wagging his eyebrows suggestively.

I shake my head and wave my hand in a dismissive manner. "No! No, no, no."

"I believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days," he says dreamily, holding his hand to his heart.

"Will you knock it off?" I tell him and give him a playful shove. "It wasn't like that. It was just…" I shake my head, frustrated. "I don't know what it was."

"She's a beautiful woman," Blaine supplies.

"Yeah, that's the problem," I grumble. Quinn really is stunningly beautiful. That was immediately apparent the first time I saw her. Gorgeous _and_ an incredible fighter. "Why am I even thinking about this? What am I even doing?" I see Blaine pondering my thoughts and I sigh. I have a feeling I know some of the questions rolling around in his head. "Don't bother. Yes, I'm attracted to her, and yes I've been avoiding her today." Blaine nods and I continue. "I can't stop thinking about her. But I really should be thinking about the town, you know?" Blaine nods again. "They're coming. The Militia is coming no matter what we decide to do. But now, this thing with Quinn, everything has become monumentally more complicated. Do I let her go? Do I let _all_ of them go? And hope I can keep the army away from the town? The odds of being successful on my own aren't very good. And then, if I let them go and they meet up with the Militia, I'll be forced to fight them. To fight _her_. I don't… I don't think I can do that. I know how this sounds, but there's just something different about her. I can't figure it out."

Blaine reaches out and places his hand on my arm. "You got a good thing goin' on with that girl, Clifford. And I'm tellin' you right now, if she flies the coop, it's gonna be your fault."

I pull at my own fishing rod, vaguely wondering if something has nibbled off all my bait and I'm fishing with an empty hook. "Well, either way I can't stay here and wait for a fight. I'm going to have to meet the Militia head on, turn myself in, or lure them away. All of those will mean sending her back out there. I can't drag her around as a hostage for much longer."

"It must be difficult to let go of something so beautiful," he says.

I run my hand through my hair and then reel in the line slowly. "I have to put the town first. I have to. They're our family."

Blaine wrinkles his nose sympathetically. "You can't live your life for other people. You've got to do what's right for you, even if it hurts some people you love." The message is clear, but his tone is light.

The floater hits the tip of the rod and I swing the line my way, catching the hook and seeing that it is, in fact, empty. "Am I crazy? I know I shouldn't trust her. I know I can't."

_He shrugs. "Sometimes things that look safe,turn out nasty. And things that look nasty_**, **_turn out safe_."

I place the fishing rod next to me and stare out across the river. Blaine's float sinks under the surface briefly. "Yeah, well, you remember what happened with Brittany?"

Blaine nods, exchanging glances between me and the floater. "Oh, yes, the past can hurt. But you can either run from it, or learn from it." He turns back to his line and lets out a little excited yelp. Something's got his line and isn't letting go this time.

I watch him reel in the line as his words play over again in my head. Maybe he's right. Maybe it's time to stop thinking about everything that's happened in the past and start thinking about what could be in the future and what I want out of it.

But first I need to figure out how I'm going to take care of the Militia. Even if that means separating myself from Quinn.

* * *

We walk up to the tavern and I place the small cooler next to the wooden cleaning station as Rachel bounces out of the front door and down the steps.

I look at Blaine and nod towards the well. "Go get a couple buckets of water to clean these things, okay?" He nods and lifts one of the empty buckets on the ground to fill it with water.

Rachel stops in front of me excitedly and claps her hands together. "You caught some!" She peers into the cooler at the handful of fish we managed to reel in.

"Not many. They weren't really biting today," I say regretfully. I reach in the cooler of now melting ice and pull out one of the fish. I don't have much time to clean them before they go bad, so I toss the first one on the cleaning station and reach for the small scaling knife I have hooked to my belt.

"Well, you clean them, I'll cook them," Rachel says. I drag the knife's edge upwards from tail to gills and begin removing the scales. I see movement out of the corner of my eye and look up to see Quinn moving quickly down the street, Sam hot on her heels. She looks angry. I watch curiously as Sam catches up to her and reaches out to tug at her arm, slowing her down and pulling her towards him. She stops and looks at him and they talk in hurried, hushed tones.

I fight the urge to walk over there and pull Sam's hand off of her and ask what the hell is going on. Instead, I watch as Sam eventually removes his hand to run it through his shaggy blonde hair. He nods at whatever it is Quinn is saying to him. After another nod, they both turn and walk away.

I continue to make short work of the fish while keeping watch on Quinn, who starts coming my way. As she passes, she looks up at me and her expression shifts immediately. Her features soften. She returns my stare, only looking away when she fully passes me by.

What the hell was that all about?

"You like her don't you?" Rachel asks softly.

I turn to look at her, unaware of the fact that she was watching me so closely. I glance one more time at Quinn before returning my attention to the fish I'm cleaning. "I don't know what to think of her," I say honestly.

Rachel glances at Quinn and then down at the fish, her eyes flicking upwards quickly only once to mine. "Do you think she's pretty?"

I can't help but look over at Quinn again, watching her back as she turns a corner and disappears from view. I sigh and finish my work on the fish. It's not a difficult question to answer; it's just difficult answering it to _Rachel_. So I just shrug instead.

"Rachel?" The interruption is welcomed as I turn towards the tavern doors. Jesse is standing in the doorway holding up a crate full of carrots. "I'm not really sure where some of these vegetables go," he admits with a blush.

I turn to look at Rachel, arching a brow.

"I'll be right there!" She calls over to him. When she looks back at me, her cheeks are flushed red and she's got an incredibly sheepish expression on. "He's helping me with the garden and cleaning up a bit before we have to get ready for the autumn crops," she offers as an excuse.

"Uh huh," I say with a knowing smirk.

She points to the fish as she backs up towards the tavern. "Hurry up with those fish. I'll go get the skillet hot."

"Yeah, I bet you will," I call out after her. She shoots me a look and quickly ascends the stairs and into the building.

* * *

I take a slow sip from the tea, the steam warming my face. My eyes skim over one of my father's journals. I've been pouring over his notes reading about Russell Fabray's troop movements and most frequented locations. It's important that I find a way to pick out and map any sort of patterns he might have. I need to know how he thinks.

They're calculated, that's for sure. But for now, the only common denominator I can easily see is that he's always been two steps behind my father's movements. Almost as if he's been studying my father as much as my father studied him; just waiting for him to make the first move. It's hard to believe that would be the case, but it sure as hell looks like it might be.

All the notes I'd started taking after my father died also point to the possibility that the General began following me as well. And worse than that is the fact that he's been way too quiet in the last few years I've been hidden.

The sudden drop off in activity would make sense… if he was truly out there looking for me. With me out of the game, he wouldn't have much to do.

But there are notes in my father's journal that don't make much sense from a timing sense; it sure as hell looks like the General was keeping himself geographically close to my father before he was even truly a threat to the Militia. But why would he do that? How would someone like Russell Fabray even know about Cale Lopez? I don't get it. Maybe the notes are wrong.

My father never actively went after Russell Fabray until a year or so before I was born. He took up with the Rebels when he was sixteen, but he never did much but run valuable messages for a few years. Russell was only a Private then, so neither of them were major threats to either side. It wasn't until Russell became a Lieutenant and my father graduated to running strikes against small Militia camps that the notes in his journal began to take a very strong slant towards all things Russell Fabray.

But there's no active reason as to _why_. There didn't seem to be any major face to face encounters. And it appeared as if they were never really in the same location at the same time. So what had provoked it? Did my father do something to one of his units and just forget to log it? Or was it something else?

I think I'm missing a large piece of this puzzle. And I can't believe it took me this long to notice it.

A light knocking on my door snaps me out of my thoughts. With a sigh, I put the journal back and get up to answer the door.

I reach for my shotgun propped against the wall by the entrance and unlock the door. When I open it, I'm surprised to find Quinn standing on my doorstep.

She glances down at the barrel of the gun and looks both amused and impressed at the same time. She sticks out her bottom lip slightly and nods her approval. "Mind if I come in?" she asks with a smirk.

I look at her for a moment and wonder if that's such a good idea. My mind is a mess. Aside from trying to piece together our father's enigmatic history, there's also that nagging attraction I have towards her. I get the feeling that letting her in will blur a lot of lines.

But despite my better judgment and trying to convince myself to stay away, I push the door open even further and step aside to let her inside.

"I couldn't sleep," she offers casually. She walks past me and turns. "I had a lot on my mind."

I close and lock the door behind us. "I know how that is."

She regards me carefully for a moment, staring at me. "Sebastian's been stealing from everyone," she finally says with a deep sigh.

I chuckle and put my shotgun back against the wall. "I know. I saw him swipe some bread on my way out with Blaine this morning. And I saw him poking around in Rachel's garden a couple of days ago."

Quinn nods, not at all surprised by my reaction. "He also wants to poison you and get that key around your neck." Her eyes fall to the chain tucked under my shirt.

I pull at the chain and reveal a key dangling from the end of it. "This? Why?"

She shrugs. "To unlock the ankle bands and make a run for it."

Her lack of regard for secrecy makes me want to laugh. I wonder if she's telling me this because she's already come up with a counter plan or if she's trying to play some sort of mind game with me. I carefully tuck the chain back into my shirt and pull a small silver key from the pocket of my pants. "Oh, you mean this key?"

Quinn looks at the key in my hand, then at me, and shakes her head. "I knew it," she laughs. "Sebastian's an idiot."

"Well he was right to know that I was the one with the key to your freedom," I point out. Quinn rolls her eyes. "So how does he plan on poisoning me?"

Before I'm even finished my question, she's off and wandering through my house, scanning everything with apparent interest. "He wants me to get close to you. When we're alone," she says causally. "Kind of like we are now."

My eyes wander down the shape of her back as she studies an old picture on the wall. "Here to slip something into my tea, Fabray?"

She shakes her head and chuckles. "Hardly." She glances over her shoulder and catches my eye. "Not my style," she teases.

I lean against the doorframe and watch as she makes a slow circle in the main room of the house. She reaches out and runs her fingertips along the spines of the books on a shelf. "You have quite the collection," she says, impressed.

"I like books," I say casually.

"As do I," she says flashing a smile in my direction.

She turns back to explore again. Whenever she finds something that peeks her interest, she cocks her head to the side and takes her time to examine it. Of course I'm aware that she's making a bit of a show at demonstrating how comfortable she is just waltzing through my home. But I'm somehow okay with it.

It gives me an opportunity to let my eyes wander over her.

Her hair is down, slightly wavy from the humid weather. She's wearing the white cloth shirt she arrived in, the dirt gone from the fabric now that it's been washed. She also has on the brown fitted cargo pants I gave to her by the lake. The bottoms of them are tucked in her ankle high Militia issued black boots. On one of her legs there's a slight bulge just above her boot-line.

I frown. Even joking about it moments ago, it's the first time I feel sincerely guilty about making her wear that anklet.

Quinn pauses only briefly as she passes the large map on the wall, her eyes lingering before moving on. To my surprise, she ignores the safe nestled in the corner of the room. It isn't until she spots something on the table between the two chairs when she comes to a complete stop.

She reaches out and points to the table top. "What is this?"

I look towards the table to see what she's pointing at. "A music player."

She picks it up and runs her fingers over the small device. She practically falls backwards when it lights up in her hands. She spins around to face me, her eyes wide with wonder. "You have one that works?"

"I do," I say with an amused smile.

"My father said the Militia doesn't have time for these. We have more important things to focus on," she says sadly. "Can you show me?"

I push myself off the wall and cross the distance between us. She watches me with obvious excitement as I reach out and grab the ear buds. I put one in my ear and then hold the other to her. "Put that in your ear and then figure out what kind of music you want." I wait as she mimics my actions. Then I reach out, placing my hand over hers as she holds the player. With my other hand I take her thumb and place it on the wheel. I guide her thumb in a circular motion, acutely aware of my body pressed against her side. "So what do you want to listen to?"

"Something soothing." She watches everything I do with a curious intensity. I inhale deeply, taking in the slight scent of soap radiating from her. "Then what?" she asks, lifting her eyes to meet mine.

"You find what you want and then press play," I tell her and press her thumb down against the button, my eyes never leaving hers.

I take my ear bud out and place it gently in her other ear and take a step back as the music starts. It's nothing fancy, just a simple melody, something slow and soothing like she asked for. But as the music begins to play, her entire face changes. Her eyes grow wide and her jaw drops slightly as her hands come up to cup her ears.

She stares at me with such wonderment and much awe that I can't help the smile that appears on my face. I wonder briefly if I looked the same way the first time I was given the music player.

She's heard music before, everyone has. But I'm pretty sure she's never heard it like this. This is so different from the people who stand around town or in the pubs and taverns plucking at their guitars and banging on their homemade drums. It's even different than the music box we have in the tavern.

This is something entirely more personal.

I can tell she wants to say something, but she can't seem to form the words. I reach out and gently remove the ear buds from her ears. "Here, let me show you something else," I tell her.

I take the player out of her hands and remove the ear buds from the device, tossing them back on the table. I walk over towards a thick, rectangular box that sits on a shelf against the far wall. I seat the music player down into a recessed groove in the box and press play again. The speaker inside the box suddenly comes to life and the same song begins to play and drift throughout the room.

When I turn back towards Quinn, I am amused to find her somehow even more amazed than she was a moment ago. "Pretty great, huh? Kurt made this thing work for me a couple years ago. He might be strange, but he's a strange genius."

She stares at the speaker for a moment as she listens. "What's his name? The man who's singing."

"Frank Sinatra," I tell her as I walk over and drop into one of my favorite old recliners.

"It's relaxing. It's perfect," she says with a sigh.

That's the idea," I smirk. "You really don't have music in the Militia?"

"We have music; we just don't listen to it much. It's hard to find any kind of devices that are fixable and even when we do we rarely bother trying. We use our 'Kurt's' for things other than charging music devices."

"That's kind of sad," I say with a frown.

"Yes it is," she agrees. She suddenly stares at me with such curious intention that I shift a little self consciously in my seat. "Do you dance?" she asks finally.

I can't help but laugh a little. I was not expecting that. "No. I definitely do _not_ dance," I tell her.

She arches a brow. "Why not? What good is music if not for dancing?"

The way she says it, the way she's swaying slightly to the music makes me remember the story of how my parents met. I haven't thought about it in a long time. "That's how my father met my mother," I say aloud. Quinn stops swaying and looks at me curiously. I glance up at her and she smiles encouragingly. "He was hanging low in this little town on the east coast. He had just stolen a horse from the Militia and decided to hide out in this little town until they stopped looking for him. He went into their tavern for something to eat and a few of the locals were playing music. She was in the middle of the room dancing. He said he took one look at her and fell madly in love."

"So is that why you won't dance with me? Afraid you'll fall madly in love?" she teases.

Her smile is soft and her eyes are shining. I may not be afraid of falling madly in love, but I _am _afraid of losing all my self control. It's damn near non-existent in her presence. She arches an eyebrow, waiting for an answer. "Something like that," I say with a smile.

She steps in front of me and reaches out, grabbing my hands and pulling me to my feet. "Come on. Don't be such a baby."

I narrow my eyes. This seems to make her smile grow. She tugs at my hands and places them on her waist as she keeps her hands on my arms, keeping plenty of space between us.

"See? This isn't so bad is it?" She teases.

Quinn's hands slide up my arms and drape effortlessly around my neck as though she's done this with me a thousand times before. "No. It isn't so bad," I admit.

Her eyes meet mine and I'm acutely aware of how hazel they look in the dim lighting. I wonder if I've ever cared so much about the color of anyone's eyes before. I pull her closer to me, filling the space between us until I can feel her body

My eyes drop to her parted lips. She's close enough that I can feel every exhale against my skin. She turns her head slightly and her noses brushes against my own. I watch, a bit dizzy now, as she bites her lower lip and looks down at my mouth.

My hands are moving before I know it. I brush my palms up her back all the way up to her neck and then back down. I slip my hands underneath the fabric of her shirt and run them upwards across her bare skin. It's soft and warm as I press my fingers harder into her, pulling her even closer.

She sighs and leans forward just enough to drag her lips lightly across my mouth. Her hands rake through my hair before dropping to the back of my neck as she pulls me in and leans further into me.

I wonder briefly if she really _is_ here to poison me. If she's seducing me just like she teased me about to get the key to her freedom. But you know what? Right now? If it's going to happen, I think I'm okay with letting it. In this moment I'd gladly drink her poison if it meant having the chance to hold her close for a little while longer.

But there's something about her ragged breathing that steadies my heart and reassures me she's just as deep in this moment as I am. And that maybe, just maybe, we're exactly where we're meant to be.

I want to give her everything.

Loud and firm knocking interrupts the moment.

We immediately pull apart in surprise, confused and incredibly frustrated. We stare at each other until the knocking returns. I grab my still holstered pistols from the table next to my chair and strap them around me as I quickly make my way towards the door.

I fling the door wide open to see Mike standing there with his rifle and a lantern. "There's a kid here to… are you listening to music?" he asks in confusion. When his mouth suddenly drops open and his eyes go wide I know he's just noticed Quinn beside me.

"Mike," I say, snapping his attention back to me.

"Uh," he looks from Quinn back to me. "Um, oh, yeah, there's a kid here to see you."

"A kid?" I ask skeptically. I glance at Quinn behind me as I step out of the house. She falls in step next to me as the three of us walk down the path and onto the street.

I have no idea who it is he's talking about, or why anyone is here this late looking for me. But I have a sinking suspicion it can't be good news. Quinn shoots me a look that lets me know she's a bit unsettled as well.

We round the corner and head towards the entrance of the town. Standing next to two of the night guards is a teenage boy, maybe sixteen years old, waiting nervously. His hair is curly and wild and his face is flushed.

Quinn leans in closer to me. "I thought you said there weren't any more couriers due to stop by."

"I did," I agree. The boy sees it's me coming and straightens up when I get closer. "He's not a courier," I tell her.

As we stop in front of the boy, Mike nods towards the two guards and they leave us to return to their posts. I rest my hand on the hilt of one of my pistols casually. "What's your name?"

He lifts his chin higher. "Max."

"What brings you here so late?" I ask casually.

"I was told to give you this," he says and hands me a sealed letter. "For your eyes only."

I glance at the letter quickly. No markings. "Are you hungry?" I ask without looking at him.

He swallows roughly. "No, I had some dried fruit not too long ago."

"Thirsty?"

"I'm okay." He glances around nervously and then nods towards his horse. "But my horse could use some water."

"We'll get you both some." I motion one of the guards back over and nod at Max, who hands the reins to the guard and waits for further instruction.

I turn back to the letter and break the seal. As I read the message, I can feel the others staring at me, waiting for a reaction.

I get down to the bottom of the message, see the single letter scrawled there, and suddenly know exactly why Max came to us so late.

I turn towards Max and I nod. He visibly relaxes now that he's seen me read the message. His job is finished. There's no need to give him a reply. I reach out and rest my hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, Max." He nods proudly. I turn towards the guard. "Please make sure both Max and his horse get food and water. He's come along way. Make sure he has a comfortable place to stay and anything else he might need."

The guard nods. "Come on then," he says to the boy.

I give Max a nod and he returns it as he follows the guard towards the stables.

I look back down at the letter and read it again, clenching my jaw. "Will's in Arlington," I say finally, my eyes still on the message.

"Arlington? I thought he was back East," Mike says confused.

"So did I," I admit. Whatever's going on must be pretty big. Will wouldn't have sent for me directly like this otherwise. When I look up at Quinn, I see she's staring at me expectantly.

"What are you going to do?" Mike asks.

I look away from Quinn and focus on Mike. "Go get Rachel. Tell her we need her to open up the tavern. Then go get the others."

Mike glances at Quinn but, to his credit, is good enough not to say a word. Then he's off and jogging back up the road like I asked.

I look at Quinn and fold the letter, sticking it in my back pocket as I make a split second decision. "Come with me," I tell her.

She looks at me, her mouth a straight line, her eyes hard. I have a feeling Quinn knows exactly what's happening and what would bring Will all the way out here. And she's not talking.

As I stare at her, I come to the painful realization that whatever's starting to happen between us, I still really don't know what's going on in that pretty little head of hers. I don't doubt for a second that what we had back in my house was fake, but I also don't know what she could be plotting behind those hazel eyes. She is still an incredibly dangerous woman. She's still a commanding officer in the Militia.

This letter from Will is an important reminder that Quinn Fabray is still very much my enemy.

* * *

**Thank you so much for all of the awesome reviews and messages - I love reading them all! I'm not sure when chapter 8 will be posted but fingers crossed I can get it up before next week. I'm taking a small break (traveling for the next two weeks) so please be patient! And thank you all so much for reading! **


	8. Chapter 8

**SANTANA'S POV**

Billie Holiday sings about 'Easy Living', filling the tavern. The music is meant to mask our conversation, but it somehow makes the mood even more ominous. The seven of us huddle around a table on the far side of the room. I can see Quinn over at the counter, doing her best not to throw subtle looks in our direction.

"I don't understand," Kurt says, rubbing at his eyes. "How did the courier get to Will so fast? There's no way Will could've gotten to Arlington that quickly."

"Because the courier never went all the way to East Coast," I tell them. I look around the table at Blaine, Kurt, Mike, Tina, Rachel and Puck. All of them a little bleary eyed from being awoken in the middle of the night. "All of my letters to Will go through the Rebel base Freedom. We agreed that sending a non-Rebel courier to the east was too dangerous. But every courier stops by the major towns and bases anyway, so it just made sense to send them to the base and have a Rebel marked courier take it the rest of the way depending on wherever Will happened to be."

"I would've gone to Freedom myself but Santana and I agreed it would be better if I got back right away. Instead, I went to the next town over and Max took the letter to the base," Puck jumps in.

"So when Max got to Freedom, Will was already there. He gave Max his reply saying that he was in Arlington and told Max to come straight here, to me," I finish.

Tina looks confused. "But Freedom is just a three days ride from here, right? I thought Will was on the East Coast. Why is he all the way out here?"

"Apparently whatever's going on is big enough for Will to already know about it. So he was pushing West before I even sent that warning letter," I say, glancing over at Quinn who, on the surface, appears content just to swirl the liquid in her glass. I would bet my life she was straining very hard to hear our conversation.

"Well, I just don't understand why _she's_ here," Rachel says noticing my glance in Quinn's direction.

I look over at Blaine who wears a knowing smile. I sigh deeply and run my hand through my hair. "There's something I haven't told you yet." I make sure to look at them all before continuing. "Quinn is General Fabray's daughter."

"General?" Puck asks confused. "No, I thought the General was named… Tannehill or something."

"It _was_ until he died from the flu," I tell them. They all shift uncomfortably and look towards Quinn.

"Oh my God," Rachel says looking turning back around. She leans forward across the table. "The General's daughter? Are you _insane?_"

"She's here, she's been here, the situation hasn't changed and there's nothing else we can do about it. It's just a minor detail," I tell them with a dismissive gesture.

"Minor?" Kurt squeaks. "I'd hate to think what you consider major!"

"Why didn't you tell us this sooner?" Tina asks. It's clear by the look on her face that she's more hurt than she is insulted.

Blaine places his hands flat on the table as he leans forward. "I don't think you appreciate the gut reaction people have to these things, Martin. It's all psychological. You yell 'Barracuda,' everybody says 'Huh? What?' You yell 'Shark,' we've got a panic on our hands on the Fourth of July."

"Okay, so you didn't want us to freak out, but if the Militia finds out, then they'll definitely come here after us," Puck says through clenched teeth. "Then we're all as good as dead."

Kurt leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. "I still say we kill her."

I glance over at Quinn hoping she can't hear us talk. "The Militia is on their way whether Quinn is here or not." I shoot Kurt a look normally reserved for Puck "They all made that perfectly clear from the very beginning." Kurt rolls his eyes. "We just need to keep them away from _here_ and I think Quinn is the only chance we have at the best possible outcome," I tell them honestly.

Puck crosses his arms. "How?" he ask, completely incredulous.

"Who knows how the Militia works better than the General's daughter? Who knows where they'll be and when? Or how many?" They appear to mull that one over for a few. Before anyone else can protest, I push forward. "I'm going to Arlington to work things out with Will."

Rachel gives me a strange look. "Isn't that where Brittany - "

"Yes," I say, cutting her off. That is definitely _not _something I want to get into tonight. I pinch the bridge of my nose and then rub at my forehead, trying to make the millions of thoughts running around inside slow down long enough for me to focus. "I'm going to talk to Will. By the time I come back, we'll have a final plan. I just have to know what the Rebellion knows and what they're planning on doing about it before jumping into anything."

"As simple as that?" Mike asks.

"As simple as that," I tell them seriously. "There's no other option right now. While I'm gone I want you to get ready. It's more than likely that there's going to be some sort of fight. And it's probably going to be pretty massive. I'll do my damndest to make sure it's as far away from here as possible, but I want you to be ready regardless."

"Do you think the Militia will get here while you're gone?" Tina asks. Everyone looks at me. I can tell they're all wondering the same thing.

I shake my head. "Doubtful. If they were in a hurry, they'd already be here."

"So what do we do with them?" Mike nods in Quinn's direction.

"Make sure they stay out of trouble," I say simply. "You and Blaine are coming with me to Arlington. Puck, you're in charge while we're gone. Don't let anyone in or out of the gates. Including traders and couriers." I give a pointed look and wait until he nods before continuing. "The rest of you: I need you to keep everyone calm. They're going to sense something is happening and I really need you to make sure they don't panic."

"When are you leaving?" Rachel asks.

I glance at Quinn. I could really use a drink. I lean back in my chair, taking a deep breath. "Tomorrow after breakfast."

"I'll make you all travel bags," Rachel says quietly. I look over at her and catch her eye. "I can make up a pretty nice variety for you three."

"Make it four," I say, looking back over at Quinn. Rachel follows my line of sight and turns back, ready to protest. I hold up a hand to stop her before she can. "She's the only leverage we have. If the other three want to try anything, assure them I'll kill her."

"Somehow I don't think Sebastian will mind," Mike mutters.

"What if they call your bluff? Because _clearly _you're bluffing." Rachel says accusingly.

They all look at me expectantly. I shrug my shoulders. "Whether or not I actually would, we don't have a choice. It's the only card we have to play while I'm gone."

Puck shakes his head. "I hope you know what you're doing."

"Yeah, me too," I mumble. "Go home, get some rest. Hopefully we won't be gone longer than we have to be."

The group mutters to each other quietly as they rise from the table and make their way out of the tavern. Rachel heads back in the direction of the kitchen, passing Quinn and giving her a glare I wouldn't wish upon, well… her.

Blaine lingers at the table the longest, keen to give me one last knowing look. With a wink and a grin, he pats me on the shoulder and heads after the others. I wait a few before pushing back from the table and walk over to Quinn.

"Santana," Rachel calls. I turn and look at her. She's walking towards me with one of the lanterns from the back now lit and in her hand. She hesitates as her eyes go from me to Quinn and then back to me. "Lock up when you're finished."

I nod and watch as she slips out of the tavern, closing the door quietly behind her.

"Well that seemed like an intense conversation," Quinn says lightly. I walk past the counter and towards one of the cabinets. I open the door and pull out a jar of Puck's recent batch of moonshine. Quinn cocks her head to the side and listens as a new song starts. "Frank Sinatra again?"

"Tony Bennett," I say idly. I unscrew the lid and take a long sip, wincing as it burns its way down my throat.

"Was it that bad?"She asks me curiously. I know she isn't referring to the 'shine.

I shake my head at the strength of the seemingly innocent clear liquid. "It could've been worse," I admit with a cough. "A lot worse actually."

Quinn arches an eyebrow and stares at me as I lean against the top of the counter and take a deep breath. "So what's the verdict?" she asks impatiently. "Death by firing squad?"

I lift my eyes to meet hers. "You're coming with me to Arlington." To her credit, she remains emotionless. "I don't trust you. And I don't trust you being here while I'm gone."

"I don't know whether to be flattered or insulted," she says with a hint of a smile.

I stand up and take another sip from the jar. "A little bit of both I guess."

"So when do we head out?"

"Tomorrow morning."

"Are you going to ask me what I know?" She asks. It's easy to tell she's been waiting for me to ask her.

"No," I tell her simply. She arches a brow and nods, deciding not to push it. If she wants to tell me what's going on with the Militia, she will. But I have no intention on asking her tonight.

"So Brittany, huh?" Quinn says casually changing the subject. I can't help but stiffen at the mention of her name. "I couldn't really hear you. Just a word here and there. And names tend to stick out," she explains. "Will I get to meet her?" I take another sip. Somehow the idea of Quinn meeting Brittany does not appeal to me _at all._ She seems to sense my dread. "Well, either way, being in the same room with you and Will should prove to be interesting enough. If my father knew I think his head would explode," she adds with a chuckle.

"I'm sure if you slipped someone a note they'd be sure to fill your father in," I fire back.

She watches me for a moment, the smile fading from her lips. "No, I don't think I want him interrupting us just yet," she admits quietly.

And just like that, the playful banter turns into something more. How is it that this woman across from me can be my enemy one minute and something so… _different_ the next? I can't let this confuse me right now. I can't stop and think about it. I have to focus on getting to Will and figuring out what I need to do to keep my friends safe from the Militia.

I screw the lid back on the jar of moonshine and nod towards the lanterns at the front of the tavern. "Come on. Let's lock this place up before Rachel has a panic attack. Go grab one of those lanterns and put the rest out." I snuff out the lantern from the bar and walk over to turn off the music box. Quinn is already at the front door.

"So I'll see you in the morning then," she says before turning to leave.

I follow her down the tavern steps and watch as she walks towards her house. "Oh and Quinn?" She stops and turns around. "Don't wear your uniform tomorrow."

"Got it," she says with a nod. She flashes me a smile and I can't help but return it. There's something about her that just…

"Are you two screwing yet?"

I sigh as Puck steps up beside me and effectively interrupts my brief moment of contentment. When I can no longer see Quinn, I turn around to him. "Why are you creeping around in the dark?"

"I'm not _creeping_, I was waiting." He smiles. "I didn't want to ruin your moment inside with the Lieutenant in case you were planning on pinning her down to the table."

"Puck," I warn.

"I don't trust her as far as I can throw her and I definitely think she's playing us, but given the opportunity, I'd probably scr - "

"Puck, what do you want?" I interrupt with a heavy sigh.

Thankfully, he gets it. "Are you sure this plan of yours is the best idea?" I notice him anxiously rubbing the back of his neck.

"I have to go to Arlington, Puck. In the four years I've been here, Will hasn't tried to see me or ask me to see him. He's respected my choice to be here. If he's asking to see me now - "

Puck shakes his head. "No, I don't mean that. Of course you have to go to Arlington. I mean, leaving me in charge."

He looks nervous and unsure. It's a rare expression to see on him. Before I came to this town, a few of the older townspeople were in charge. They made decisions as a group. Not long after I had recovered, that group stepped down, leaving it to the younger, less world-weary generation to take over. It wasn't until later that I learned how rag-tag that older vanguard actually was. My initial impression had been a favorable one. But apparently those six men and women had been waiting to pass on the torch for years. I'm not surprised - not everyone is cut out to be a soldier. But Puck is.

I know, without a doubt, that Puck is the obvious choice to be the one making the final decisions here while I'm gone. He's earned and he definitely deserves it. "Puck, there is no doubt in my mind that you will do everything in your power to keep these people safe. You're a good soldier and a good man. You've protected this place long before I got here. I'm just giving back the reins."

He seems to square his shoulders proudly despite the hesitance still on his face. "Thanks, Lopez." We both turn when we see some movement in the streets. I'm amused to see that it's Jesse and Sam hurriedly walking towards Quinn's house. I'm a bit confused as to _why_ they're in such a hurry. There's no way she could have managed to let them know anything that quickly. But nothing truly surprises me about Quinn anymore.

"Well looks like our guests are about to be filled in with the game plan," Puck laughs.

"Looks like it," I murmur.

"You know, I hate that guy," Puck says. I don't think he has any reason to dislike Sam, not like I do, which means he has to be referring to Jesse. "I've seen him following Rachel around like a little lost puppy. Who does he think he is? Sweeping the floors and picking vegetables. And he always compliments her. I can't stand him."

"Hate to break it to you, Mohawk, but girls like Rachel? They like men who are kind and considerate and polite and who help them with all the sweeping and gardening." I tell him with a lighthearted laugh.

He looks at me surprised. "Really?"

I nod. "Do something nice for her once in awhile. You'll be amazed how far that will get you."

He turns back towards the trio. "And girls like Quinn?"

"I'm still working on that one," I admit. I turn to look at Quinn's place in time to see the front door open. She steps out, sees the two of them, and, unless I'm imagining things, looks pretty confused. After some quick words from Sam, I see her throw her hands up in annoyance and step aside to let them inside. The trio disappears inside and I turn to Puck and give him a shove in the direction of his own house. "Get some sleep."

"Yeah, yeah," he mutters and walks away.

As I watch him go, I realize how truly tired I am. I sigh and run a shaky hand through my hair.

Tomorrow's going to be an interesting day.

* * *

**QUINN'S POV**

"What happened? Are you okay?" Sam asks worriedly as he and Jesse follow me into the house.

"I'm fine," I assure them. I place the lantern on the table near the front of the house and close the door. I turn around and look at them both. "Were you two, like, just staring out your windows waiting for something to happen?"

"We went for a walk," Sam says quickly and casts a sideways glance at Jesse.

I cross my arms and look at them both. "Well that's not suspicious at all."

"We were keeping an eye on their security," Sam admits. "So what the _hell_ is going on?" he presses on immediately.

I roll my eyes. If they want to do parameter checks, that's fine by me. I know for a fact they change rotation in four hour blocks and all points of entrance are double patrolled. There are snipers at every corner of the fencing and on foot patrolmen are in constant motion. But if they think they can spot a weakness, more power to them.

"Santana got a letter. Will is in Arlington," I tell them simply. I pull out the chair to the table and drop down into it, suddenly very tired.

"Arlington? Where's that?" Jesse asks.

I lean back, close my eyes and cock my head from side to side to work the kinks out of my neck. "About two days ride from here."

"Do they know why he's there?" Sam asks me.

I shake my head. "No."

"Is it because of…?"

"I don't _know. _Probably_,_" I sigh. I open my eyes and look at Sam. "But yes, I'm going to find out. I'm going to Arlington with Santana in the morning."

"What?" Sam and Jesse both look stunned. "You're joking, right?"

"I'm not."

Sam appears dumbfounded. "But you told her no didn't you?"

I can't help the bitter chuckle that slips from my throat. "And why would I do that?"

"Are we all going?" Jesse asks.

"No, just me." I pull myself out of the chair and make my way over to the cot on the other side of the room.

"They could kill you out there and then what?" Sam asks from the front of the room.

I spin around and throw my hands up. "Then you have my permission to listen to any of Sebastian's asinine ideas."

"Quinn…"

"Look, you wanted a plan. This is it. I'm going to Arlington. I'm going to find out what Will is up to and what they're planning on doing once the first Battalion gets here. Then I'll have more answers for you. But right now I really just want to get some sleep." I don't wait for them to reply before flopping down on top of the cot without bothering to even take off my boots. I throw my arm over my eyes and exhale deeply.

"Okay," Sam says quietly. I don't have to look at him to know he's wounded by my dismissal. I feel only slightly guilty as he and Jesse both turn and let themselves out.

I let my arm fall from my face and I stare up at the ceiling. A dark orange glow from the lantern flickers above me as I think about all that's happened. And all that _might_ happen.

I should be apprehensive. I should be thinking about the best possible way to get what's left of my men to safety or a way to let the Militia know exactly where we are.

But interestingly enough; going back to the Militia doesn't sound as appealing to me as it did even a week ago. And if I'm truly honest with myself, the thought of escaping this place, leaving Santana, brings a strange and unfamiliar sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

If I find a way to I tell the Militia exactly where we're being kept us as prisoners, then this town will be nothing but ash and rubble and everyone will be dead in a matter of minutes. And I don't want that either.

Right now, I have no idea what I'm going to do.

* * *

Despite my exhaustion, I didn't get much sleep. It's not that I didn't try; I just couldn't quiet my mind enough to do it. It's been like that since I first got here but has grown increasingly worse. I would literally _kill_ to be able to sleep through the night again.

I haven't seen Sam, Jesse, or Sebastian yet this morning. Not for the first time, I imagine just how much they must hate me right now. Not that I blame them.

We started with sixty men. Several were lost to infection and sickness. Two dozen more gone in a firefight when Sebastian managed to piss off an entire town over supplies. And then there were the twenty that died when the Raiders jumped us just outside this town.

I'm the Lieutenant that's supposed to be promoted and eventually lead the Mid-Western Regiment and I can't even keep sixty men alive. How the hell will I keep _six hundred_ alive? And now I'm leaving the rest of my men behind to go on an adventure with our public enemy number one.

Part of me wonders if it's even worth getting away to our new headquarters anymore. Whoever is leading the Regiment now is probably better equipped than I am. Maybe it's best if we _don't_ meet the first of the three Battalions there. It's not like I did my job of clearing the place out before they arrived, anyway.

I run my fingers through my hair, holding my head and I close my eyes. I don't know what the hell I'm doing anymore. A cool breeze reaches out and buffets against me and the tall grass I lay in along the riverbank.

"You're in my spot."

I look up at Santana staring down at me. She's wearing a grey, V- neck tank top, her aviators dangling from the collar and nestled comfortably between her breasts. Her dark green, fitted cargo pants are already strapped with her pistols fastened tightly to her thighs. She crosses her arms and arches a brow.

Just the pure sight of her causes me to relax.

"We can't share?" I ask innocently.

"I don't know, there's not a lot of room," she says, looking around the lake and the shore dramatically. I roll my eyes when she looks back down at me as I sit up. With a smile, she sits down beside me and looks out towards the lake.

Picking up a flat stone, she holds it between her fingers, running them over the smooth surface before flicking her wrist and skipping the stone several times over the water.

I watch the ripples take shape as the rock makes contact. On the fifth skip, it loses momentum and sinks below the surface. "Did you get any sleep?" I ask.

"I don't sleep much these days. Nightmares," she says dismissively. "You?"

"Not really," I tell her with a sigh. "I was up all night packing."

She smirks at my sarcasm. "So you're ready to go then?"

I glance down at my ankle with a frown. "That's going to be rather difficult considering I'm still confined to your town."

"Yeah, that _is_ a problem," she agrees.

"If only I knew someone with the key," I tease. When I look back up at her, she isn't looking at my ankle. She's looking at my mouth.

It sends a shiver down my spine.

She runs the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip and in that moment all I can think about is kissing her. How it goes so quickly from banter to wanting to pull her in close and kiss her, still baffles me.

Santana must be thinking the same thing because she slowly leans in, her whole body moving towards mine. My heart hammers in my chest and there's that same tingle of anticipation running through me at being this close to her. It's intoxicating.

I can't seem to help myself whenever she's around. I find myself wanting to be as close to her as possible. I crave everything about her; her touch, her scent, her kisses…

She leans in closer and I close my eyes and part my lips for her; an open invitation. I can feel her warm breath on my cheek. I tilt my head back just slightly…

But the pressure of her lips never comes.

Instead, I hear a soft _click_ and the weight around my ankle is gone. I open my eyes, confused.

Santana pulls away and holds the metal band in one hand and the key her other. Her eyes meet mine and she smirks triumphantly. She knows she managed to rile me up in a matter of seconds. I would smack the satisfied smirk off of her face if it wasn't so damn sexy.

Instead of giving her any sort of victorious satisfaction, I arch my brow. "Just like that?"

She snaps the band closed. "Just like that."

Then it hits me. "You weren't even going to take it off were you? You had forgotten all about it." I nod towards the metal band in her hand. "They're fake aren't they? They were never rigged to explode. They're not even real!"

Santana's eyebrows raise and she laughs. "Oh, no, they're real."

I'm still not buying it. "Really? I don't believe you."

She looks at me for a moment, that arrogant smirk still on her lips. I'm about to grab the band from her when she brings her arm back and throws the circular band out towards the water as hard as she can, a flick of her wrist just like she did with the stone. It travels in the air as it spins further out across the water…

Before suddenly exploding.

I jump so hard that I actually come up off the ground. "Holy shit!"

She looks at me with yet another satisfied expression.

I hadn't really expected it to explode. "You… you honestly strapped _bombs_ to us?"A part of me is absolutely furious that she actually did it. And another part of me is incredibly impressed.

She throws her head back and laughs. "You honestly thought I_ didn't_?"

I'm utterly speechless.

We hear the sound of many heavy footsteps back up at the gate. When I turn, I'm again surprised to see Puck, a dozen armed townspeople and Sam, Jesse and Sebastian all running in our direction. Puck gets to us first. "What happened?" he asks, pointing a rifle directly at me.

Santana stands and wipes her hands on her pants. "Just a demonstration," she says causally, although I can see that she's fighting very hard not to laugh all over again. She glances down at me and then nods towards the gate. "Come on. Now that you're free of your bomb, we have to get moving."

With a swear of his own, Puck hoists the rifle up over his shoulder and turns. "It's okay!" he yells to the townspeople. "False alarm, everyone's fine. Head on back inside."

As the townspeople follow Puck back in, I see Santana casually walk over to Sam, who appears incredibly reluctant to leave just yet. "Still don't think they work?" I hear her ask him.

She laughs again loudly when Sam shoots her a look of pure hatred.

* * *

I double check my bag, wondering why it's necessary to bring any spare clothes at all considering everything I own is part of the Militia's uniform. I have a spare, non-descript t-shirt and cargo pants from Santana. Other than that, I have nothing else that I'd be allowed to wear.

As if on cue, Santana suddenly holds out a navy blue, lightweight, collared jacket. "You might need this," she says as she moves past me and towards her horse. "It can get chilly out there," she says over her shoulder.

"I hate her," Sam mutters after Santana has passed.

I sigh. "Sam, could we not?"

"Remember, this is the woman who let our friends die," he reminds me.

I shoot him a look. "And you don't think I remember that?"

"Just because she hasn't been active in the Rebellion doesn't mean she isn't still dangerous," he continues.

"I know."

"And don't let her out of your sight. The second you turn your back - "

"Sam!" I interrupt. I look at him and my expression softens when I see the worried look he's giving me. "I know," I promise. "I'll be fine. And I'll see you in a few days okay?"

He nods and looks at me through the shaggy blonde hair that's long enough to cover his eyes. "Okay."

"Try and keep Sebastian out of trouble. We don't need any more complications." I reach out and push the hair from his eyes and let my hand rest on his cheek.

"Just be careful," he says to me quietly.

"I will," I promise again.

The stable hand walks up to me, holding the reins of a white and grey mare. He hesitantly begins to tell me about her. How old she is, her obedience level, the snacks she likes to eat. I can tell she means a lot to him. I try to listen and nod along, but my eyes keep wandering back to Santana, who is making her own departing preparations.

He finally hands over the reins. I give him a nod that I hope assures him that I'll take good care of his horse. Over his shoulder, I notice Rachel pull Santana into a big hug. It's a rather long embrace, I think. But eventually, Rachel pulls away. Santana smiles reassuringly at her and reaches out to touch her cheek. I pull the straps on my bag a little tight and the horse stomps her foot in protest. "Sorry," I mumble.

I pull my gaze away and purse my lips. I don't like being jealous. And I certainly don't like being jealous of _her_.

Is this who I've become? I've gone from being a commanding officer in charge of hundreds of men to this? Jealous of a simple barmaid? I shake my head, disgusted with myself. I never thought I'd ever have any sort of feelings beyond hatred for someone involved in the Rebellion. Whatever those feelings might be.

Puck steps forward and hands Santana a few jars of moonshine. As the two begin going over some last details, I see Rachel turn and start making her way towards me.

I roll my eyes and turn back to my horse, running my hand through her long, dark mane.

Rachel arrives and hands me a small backpack. "Here's your food and water," she tells me.

"Thanks," I say, all business. I take the bag and work on strapping it to the side of my horse. Even though I've got my back to her, I know Rachel is still behind me

"You're not the first girl she's charmed you know," she finally says after a moment. She doesn't have to say who "she" is for me to know she's talking about Santana.

I shake my head and chuckle. "Are you speaking from experience?"

I hear her move from behind me and suddenly she's beside me and leaning in close. "She may not see what your angle is, but I know exactly what you're trying to do."

I stop adjusting the straps on the bag and sigh heavily. Is she really doing this? I throw my hands in the air and turn to face her. "And what am I doing?"

"You're trying to earn her trust so that you can betray her the second she lowers her guard," she says with an accusing scowl.

I think about calling her out on her jealously and telling her how unattractive it looks on her. But I realize how hypocritical that would sound. "Actually I - "

"If you do anything to harm her in any way, I'll find you." The tone in her voice surprises me. There's no fear in it. Suddenly, the doting little barmaid seems a lot more intimidating than I had thought possible. "No matter where you are, I'll hunt you down. And I'll kill you slowly and with as much pain as humanly possible. I may not be able to throw a knife like you can, but I'm a master with a potato peeler."

And just like that, she flips her hair over her shoulder and spins, leaving me alone with a gruesome image. I would've laughed at her if she wasn't so terrifying.

Santana approaches on horseback and pulls up next to me, oblivious to my little chat with Rachel. "Got everything?"

"I think so," I say, squinting up at her. I glance over at Rachel who, despite now talking to Puck, is still staring at me with murder in her eyes.

Santana looks at me for a beat and then nods, pulling on her reins. "Mount up. We're moving out."

I watch Santana ride slowly towards the gate and I look for Sam. He's staring at me from a distance, ignoring whatever it is that Jesse is saying to him. I do as she says and mount my horse. I take a deep breath and kick my heels lightly to follow after Santana.

I give Sam another look. He subtly nods at me and I nod back. It's a wordless gesture promising one another that we'll both be okay.

Pulling my sunglasses down over my eyes, I grip the reigns and follow Santana, Mike and Blaine through the gates. Somewhere deep down, I have the nagging feeling that the next time I come back through here, things will be very, very different.

* * *

**SANTANA'S POV**

We've been riding for hours, taking only small breaks here and there as we try and push ourselves and the horses as far as we can go. But as the sun begins to set, I know we all need water, food, and rest.

It doesn't help matters that the terrain all looks the same - just dirt and dead grass. I know from making this trek once or twice that there's a creek another few hours North, but we don't have the daylight to make it there. And I don't want to risk sleeping exposed, not when one of us is unarmed and potentially capable of betraying us at any moment. We'll just have to split our water with the horses and refill come tomorrow.

I bring my horse to a stop and the others follow suit. Ahead of us, I can see an old, run-down farm. The barns and most of the side houses are decayed hulks, but the house itself isn't in too bad a shape. I know there a few buildings scattered here and there but I don't want to waste time trying to locate them. The old farmhouse will have to do.

"Let's check the house. Make sure it's empty. Then we'll stop here for the night," I tell them.

We approach the house and keep our weapons drawn, Quinn in the middle of us. "Looks deserted," Mike comments idly.

"Stay out here, Blaine and I will go in and do a sweep." I dismount from my horse, tying his reins to a rusted metal post protruding from the ground.

I draw my shotgun and wait for Blaine to tie up his own horse. Quinn doesn't protest as she's left with Mike and the horses.

We go slowly from room to room, thoroughly clearing each. Even still, it doesn't take long. The rooms are empty except for the scatted and tattered furniture. There's overgrown plants creeping up through the floorboards on the bottom level and old, rusting kitchen appliances. The staircase is the most dangerous thing we encounter; the rotting steps nearly falling through as we scale them.

The bedrooms are long deserted and half of the roof has crumbled in on itself, blocking off half of the second floor. The master bedroom is by far the most inhabitable room, with the entire space open and the majority of it still covered by intact roofing.

If anyone's been through here, it's been a long time. There are no traces of previous camps and no current personal belongings that I can tell. "I think that's it," I tell Blaine and lower my gun.

He nods, but continues to poke around the upper level.

I walk over to where there used to be a door out towards a balcony and see Mike and Quinn circling the perimeter below. "Tie the horses up outside the kitchen," I call down to them. "Give them some food and water and then come on up."

"Got it!" Mike calls up at me.

After the horses are taken care of, Mike and Quinn make their way up to the master bedroom. Upon reviewing the space, Quinn shows her approval by dropping her sleeping bag down at her feet. She then drops mine as well.

I give her a look and nod my head in thanks.

Mike drops his sleeping bag and then Blaine's beside it. "I'll go find wood for the fire and the rest of the bags from the horses," he volunteers.

* * *

I laugh at Mike's story, full from the food that Rachel packed and warm from the blazing fire in the center of the room.

"And then Tina smacked the shit out of him," Mike says in between great big bursts of laughter.

"Keep hittin 'em in the ribs, ya see? Don't let that bastard breathe!" Blaine adds boxing at the air.

We laugh at the memory of Tina reacting to one of Puck's inappropriate pranks. "He definitely deserved it," I agree as the laughter dies down.

"How long have you and Tina been together?" Quinn asks after a long moment of silence.

Mike looks at her, surprised at the question. He looks at me and I smile. It's his choice whether or not he wants to answer. "Since we were teenagers," he says finally. "My parents lived in the next town over. I used to run errands and trade crops for medical supplies with Tina and her mom. I would come over to see her as much as I could. Finally, one day, saying goodbye got to be too rough. So I packed a bag and haven't left her since," he smiles.

"That day, she was amazed to discover that when he was saying 'As you wish', what he meant was, 'I love you.' And even more amazing was the day she realized she truly loved him back," Blaine adds dramatically, holding his hand over his heart.

"Something like that," Mike says with an embarrassed chuckle. The blush on his face is truly priceless.

I glance at Quinn, impressed that she joined in on the conversation.

The sound of Blaine yawning loudly makes me realize how late it's become and I stretch out my arms, reaching for my supply bag. "Who wants first shift?"

Mike stifles his own yawn. "I'll take it," he volunteers.

I nod and watch as Mike reaches for his rifle. "Blaine, you go second, I'll take the last watch. Everyone try and get some sleep. We'll leave at sun up tomorrow and hopefully get to Arlington before dark."

"I'll wake you in a few hours," Mike says and heads off to his post.

Blaine nods as he crawls in his sleeping bag and pulls the cover tightly up and under his chin.

I drop my duffle at one end of my sleeping bag and fluff it up as best as I can. I'm surprised when Quinn does the same, placing her own bag close to mine so we are sleeping head to head.

"You don't snore, do you?" Quinn asks, looking over at me as she slips inside her sleeping bag.

I smile innocently. "No, but Blaine does."

She glances over at Blaine, who seems to have fallen asleep already. "Good thing I'm sleeping next you then, huh?"

Quinn flashes me a smile and pulls the sleeping bag up to her chest, turning so that she's facing the fire. I look down at her blonde hair as she closes her eyes, the smile still lingering on her lips. "Yeah. Good thing," I mumble and stretch out atop the sleeping bag.

* * *

_"Pay careful attention, mija. If you let the copper wire make contact…" _

_"I know, I know. We'll explode," I say with a sigh._

_He watches over my shoulder as I cross the ends of two wires together. _

_"Very good," he praises. _

_I can't help but smile. _

_I love being in my dad's work shed. He lights up when he comes in here, tinkering with his weapons or explosives. Sometimes, when he and my mom fight about the war, he hides in here for awhile before he finally goes back and apologizes to my mom and then they have their alone time._

_"Don't lose your patience. That's when you make mistakes," he tells me seriously as I gently push the wiring under the pressure plate. I can feel my dad tense beside me as I carefully lock the plate in place by slipping the covering back on._

_When I'm finished, I look up at him expectantly. He presses down on top of the mine and there's a sudden "snap!" I straighten my shoulders, proud that it "activated" like it should. But he's not finished inspecting. He takes the covering off and hums as he uses his finger to poke around on the inside, inspecting my work carefully. _

_Finally, he smiles and pats me on the back. "Excellent work! Your best one yet!" I smile proudly as he picks up the "practice" mine and hands it to me. "Now take it apart for next time."_

_I groan. I'm tired of re-wiring the same "dummy" pressure mine over and over again. "When can I see the real ones? The ones you keep in there?"_

_He shakes his head and stands from the table. "You must learn the fundamentals first."_

_"But I want to learn more than the basics," I say with a pout as I take the mine apart. "I want to learn how you make the ones that detonate." _

_My dad laughs. "Now that is a lesson for another day."_

_"Dad," I whine._

_My father takes the box and looks inside to make sure all the parts are there. "It's late. And your mother would kill me where I stood if she knew I was teaching you how to make explosives." _

_With a sigh, I reluctantly stand from the table. "Okay."_

_"Go get some sleep. I love you and I'm very proud of you," he says and leans down to drop a kiss on my forehead. _

_I look up at him and smile. It always makes me smile when he tells me he's proud of me. "Goodnight dad." He ruffles my hair and takes the box to his large metal filing cabinet. The one in which he keeps the real explosives, not my practice ones. "Dad?" I ask, confused. But he doesn't acknowledge me. What's he doing? _

_I take a step closer to him as he reaches inside the cabinet and then slowly turns towards me. I think there's something in his hands but I can't make out what it is. "Dad, what are you doing?" _

_Suddenly, we are no longer in his work shed. We're surrounded by Militia in a war town city. My father kneels and the Grey Coats are circling around him from every direction. He raises his hands in the air, a cluster mine in his hands._

_I reach out, stepping towards him. "No! Dad don't - " _

_The blast knocks me from my feet - _

I sit straight up, gasping for breath.

I rub at my forehead, sweat coating my skin. I look around and try and get my bearings. It takes me a few seconds to remember where I am. I force myself to relax and remember that I'm in a farm house, not surrounded by Militia.

I glance at the dwindling fire and then to Quinn. No, I'm only sleeping beside one.

Running my hands through my hair, I take a deep, steadying breath.

There's a noise in the distance in front of me and I immediately tense again, reaching for my pistol. I turn my head to see that it's just Mike, breathing loudly as he lies on his back. I notice that Blaine's sleeping bag is now empty. I'm a little thrown that I never heard Blaine or Mike switch shifts. Usually I'm a very light sleeper.

I rub at my eyes and look over at Blaine, who is standing watch out on the balcony. His blanket still hangs from his shoulders. Again, I run a tired hand through my hair before tossing off the top cover of the sleeping bag slowly stand.

Curiously, I wonder when I actually got _in_ my sleeping bag.

Below, Quinn is fast asleep. She has one arm tucked under her bag-pillow and her mouth parted slightly. The orange glow from the remaining embers of the fireplace highlight her face in a soft, warm light. How can someone who looks that peaceful and innocent be part of something as disgusting as the Militia?

With a sigh, I stretch my arms over my head and make my way over to Blaine.

He sees me coming almost immediately and raises his eyebrows. "I had a bad dream," I tell him dismissively.

"Well, dreams, they feel real while we're in them, right? Its only when we wake up then we realize that something was actually strange," Blaine offers.

"It just felt so real," I admit. And that's what terrifies me the most.

"These aren't just dreams. These are memories," he points out knowingly.

And that's the thing with Blaine. I don't have to elaborate for him to know exactly what I'm talking about.

"I know," I tell him with a sad smile. I reach out and take the rifle from his hands and nod towards the fire. "Get some sleep." He tries to protest but I shake my head. "I'm fine," I assure him. "I got all the sleep I'm going to get tonight, anyway."

Blaine takes the blanket from around his shoulders and drapes it on my own. He pulls it tight and looks at me with a kind and comforting smile. I do my best to return it.

* * *

The only sounds I hear are an occasional pop from the fire and crickets chirping loudly. The cold wind blowing across the open land makes me grateful for the blanket Blaine left me.

Thankfully, I can tell that dawn is coming soon.

I lean my head back against the wall behind me and wonder for the thousandth time how we're going to get out of all this. How I'm going to manage to keep my friends safe and alive from whatever Will is going to warn me about with the Militia. It also worries me that I'm banking so much of my plan on Will. I haven't seen him in years and I have no idea what he already has set in motion.

The soft footsteps behind me pull me from my thoughts and I don't have to turn around to know who they belong to. "You know, the sun doesn't come up for another hour or so. You should go back to sleep," I tell her as she comes to a stop beside me.

"I'm not really that tired." She sits down next to me and pulls her knees to her chest. She looks out towards the horizon, the moon creating just enough light to cast a soft glow. "That's kind of an amazing view."

"Yeah it is," I agree. I turn my head towards her with a slow smile. "Thinking about making a run for it?"

She laughs. "And go where?"

"True," I chuckle. "You know this used to all be farmland. Wheat fields as far as you could see," I tell her as I look out over the dirt covered land. "But all the crops died after the bombs dropped."

She turns to me with a curious look. "How do you know that?"

"I read a lot."

Quinn hums and nods her head. The wind picks up and I see her shiver and pull her jacket tighter around her. Without stopping to think about it, I scoot closer to her and hold out my arm, draping the large blanket over her shoulders and pulling her in close to me.

She looks surprised at first, but quickly brings her hand up to take the end of the blanket and settles in against my side.

I bring my arm back inside the blanket and adjust myself a little bit so that I'm more comfortable.

Quinn reaches out and takes my arm, her cold fingers pressing into my skin lightly. She turns my arm over and brings one of her fingers to my tattoo, tracing the lines slowly with her fingertip. "You know this tattoo looks like prison bars," she comments.

I look down between us and watch as her finger continues to follow the straight black lines over and over. "Yeah, it kind of does." I think back to when I was younger, how I'd follow my dad around and constantly beg for my very own. "When I was a kid I couldn't wait to get this tattoo. I wanted it in the same place as my father." She looks up at me, her finger stopping on my skin. "It doesn't seem to mean much to me these days," I say sadly.

She runs her hand down my arm and glides her palm against mine. She threads her fingers through my own. I turn my head to look at her profile. She's staring at our joined hands thoughtfully. "Neither does the little silver bar on my uniform," she says quietly. "When I was little I used to daydream about running away. Not all the time, but sometimes I'd picture myself sneaking off base and just… running."

"Where would you go?" I ask quietly.

"Anywhere. Everywhere," she laughs to herself. "Someplace far away from the war. Someplace quiet." Her eyes lift to meet mine. "Someplace like this." She closes her eyes as a cool breeze blows past us and pushes through her hair. The breeze passes and she opens her eyes. But they no longer hold the mischievous faraway look they held just moments ago. Instead she looks sad, almost mournful.

I don't think I have ever seen her look so beautiful.

She sighs. "But somewhere along the way I set my sites on becoming the next Militia General. And when I set my mind to something…"

I reach out and push the hair from her face, tucking it as gently as I can behind her ear. "Which girl are you now? The girl who wants to run away or the girl who wants to stay and become General?"

She leans in to my touch and shakes her head, uncertain. "I'm not sure I know what I want anymore."

Her hand comes up and holds my own against her cheek. Her eyes drop to my lips and I know immediately where this is leading. "Quinn," I sigh. "This won't end well." And as I say it I realize that I'm not sure who I'm trying to convince more - myself or her.

"I know," she whispers anyway, brushing her nose against mine.

My hand slips around the back of her neck and I pull her in towards me, kissing her deeply despite my own feeble attempt to caution us both.

Tomorrow I will officially rejoin the war. But right now, in this hour of twilight, I'm content to be here just like this, kissing Quinn as though my life absolutely depends on it.

* * *

**Thank you all so much for the kind words! I hope this chapter is a decent place to leave off before my travels... but I'll be back soon and I don't plan on leaving anything unfinished so please no worries! Also, as a random side note, I don't intentionally aim to leave chapters hanging in this way! This time it just seemed like a fitting place to take pause while I take a small hiatus. See you all soon! **


	9. Chapter 9

**SANTANA'S POV**

I haven't been here in four years.

I've avoided coming back for several reasons, the primary one being Brittany. When I left, I swore to never return. Yet, here I am, staring at the sand-colored brick walls that encircle one of the biggest Rebel towns in the Midwest.

There are so many reasons why I want to turn away. So many reasons to run. But there are two huge things I've spent last few years of my life running from. And both of them are beyond these walls.

The first one being the war. I know that once I pass these gates I'll have voluntarily re-entered the Rebellion. I'll once again take up arms with Will, a man I've loved like an uncle since the day I was born, and fight with him side by side once again.

And then there's Brittany. I've tried so hard to block her from my mind over the past few years that I have no idea how I will react when I see her again.

Or how she will react to seeing me.

I'm not sure I'm ready for either one of those things to come crashing back into my life. The peace I've found over the past four years is forfeit if I keep moving forward. The worst part? I don't know that I really have a choice any way I look at it. Even if I don't make the first step myself, the change that I've tried so desperately to avoid will come and find me soon enough.

Quinn comes to a stop next to me and stares at the large brick walls of the town border. "So this is Arlington," she says warily.

"This is it," I tell her. We stare at the large fortress for a moment longer before I click my tongue and push the horse forward to a slow trot. The others follow beside me as we make our way to the entrance.

I pull my horse to a stop when the guards on top of the walls stop pacing. They aim their rifles down at us. I glance at Quinn who grips the reigns tightly in her hands.

"Hands high in the air where we can see them!" one of the guards yells down. Slowly, I lift my hands into the air in plain view. The others follow suit. "Move and we shoot!"

"They seem friendly," Quinn mumbles from my left.

"State your business!" the same guard shouts.

"Tell Sue that Santana Lopez is here to see her," I yell up to him.

The guard speaks in hushed tones briefly to the men beside him and then finally looks back at me. He shakes his head. "She's busy!"

"We'll wait," I call back with a casual shrug.

The guards discuss amongst themselves again. This time, one of them breaks off and disappears, hopefully going to deliver my message.

I turn to look at Quinn. Her brow is arched as she looks back at me.

A long moment passes before the guard looks back over his shoulder at something we can't see. After another long moment, he nods and lowers his rifle. "We'll escort you in," he tells us finally.

I flash Quinn a satisfied smile.

Three guards and four young stable hands come out to us on foot. I dismount my horse and the others follow suit. I give my reigns to a young girl who smiles and reaches out to pet my horse.

The stable hands walk the horses through the front gate and we follow, the guards still watching us carefully. "Your weapons," one of them prompts, holding out a gloved hand in anticipation.

I shake my head and laugh. "I don't think so."

"I'm sorry, but the law here clearly states - "

"Oh, let them keep 'em," a voice says with amusement. I turn to see Sue walking towards us with a smirk planted firmly on her face. "It's been so long since Santana here has used a gun that I'm fairly certain the barrels have rusted closed."

I roll my eyes. Sue stops in front of me and lets her eyes drag slowly down my body. "Well, look what the old, dirty cat dragged in. You're looking a little soft these days, Lopez. Small town life make you forget how to stay in shape?"

I smile sweetly. "It's good to see you too, Sue," I say sarcastically.

Sue smiles and turns to look at Blaine to my right, her eyes going wide. "Hello, Blaine. Your hair is as wild and hideous as ever." Blaine frowns and reaches up to try and flatten the unkempt curls atop his head. Sue then looks towards Quinn and Mike to my left, narrowing her eyes and examining them carefully. "And you two are?"

"This is Quinn and this is Mike," I say, nodding towards them both.

Sue makes a snorting noise and turns back towards me, crossing her arms. "And what brings you and your good looking entourage to my humble abode?" She holds up her hand to keep me from answering. "Wait, let me guess: Does it have anything to do with your buddy Will's sudden arrival?"

"It might," I tell her with a smirk.

"Uh huh." She stares at me for a moment. "It must be serious if you've finally come out of hiding." I stare back without a word. Finally she grows bored with my lack of response and sighs. "Well. lucky for you, I have business to attend to this evening. So you're going to be on your own for awhile." She turns towards a young man standing behind her. "Eric! Take their things to the inn. Make sure they get a hot bath and something to eat."

Eric nods and runs after one of the stable hands, gesturing wildly to our bags and then to us and then towards the inn a short distance away.

"I'm sure George, among others, will be happy to see you," Sue says glancing back towards me. "I'll let Will know you're here. As for me, I could give a crap as to why you're here so I'll see you all tomorrow." She turns to leave but stops and turns to look at me over her shoulder. "Oh and Santana? Try not to shoot up the entire town while you're here. I'm tired of cleaning up after you every time you pass through."

Sue struts away, snapping her fingers at passing guards and barking off orders. I roll my eyes and sigh. Nice to know something things haven't changed one bit.

"Do you have a history of shooting up the town?" Quinn asks in amusement.

Eric runs over to us, out of breath and panting slightly. He stands up straight and smiles. "Shall I lead you to your rooms?" he asks, motioning in the direction of the large inn.

I glance at Blaine and Mike and then at Quinn. I nod and we follow the man towards the large inn deep in the middle of town.

* * *

**QUINN'S POV**

I'm very surprised at how large the room actually is. There's a big bed, a dresser and nightstand against the far wall, a two person table with chairs and a small woodstove against another. There's a huge window and a loveseat against the side wall and a plush red rug beneath my feet. Next to the table and chairs is a door that leads to an equally spacious bathroom, complete with a bathtub which two of our escorts are currently filling with hot water. Even from here I can see the steam coming up from the tub.

"It takes so long to heat the water from our generators. We constantly have water warming," Eric explains. "But we cool it down with our well water to give it the absolute perfect temperature," he says proudly.

"That's very similar to how we do," I say without thinking. Everyone turns to me curiously. "You know, back home. In the middle of… nowhere," I add lamely.

Santana snorts in amusement and faces Eric. "The accommodations are as fantastic as ever. Thank you," she says, coming to my rescue.

"If you need more hot water, please don't hesitate to ask," Eric extends graciously. "Your food will be brought up shortly. Here are the keys to your rooms." He hands Mike one of the keys and points out the door. "12 is down the hall to your left and 6 is right across," he says and hands the second key to Blaine. He then looks at Santana and gives her the third. "Here is the key for 9, and 3 is right here. For you." He gives me the last key and I look at Santana, wondering if it's alright that I've been given my own room without a chaperone.

If this is an issue, Santana doesn't let on in front of the others. She just smiles and nods imperceptibly at me. So I take the key from Eric and thank him.

"Your bags are already in the room," he says motioning to my belongings already resting on top of my bed. "If you need _anything_, I'll be downstairs."

"Thanks," Santana tells him as he slips out of the room. She turns and looks at us all and takes a deep breath. "Okay. Let's get cleaned up, get something to eat and then meet downstairs."

Mike and Blaine hurry toward their own rooms. Can't say I blame them. The sun has set, we've been travelling since sunrise. We're tired and hungry and right now, nothing sounds better than washing off the dirt from the road in a hot bath followed by something quick to eat.

I look around the room and am more than a little surprised to notice what appears to be a fresh pair of non-descript looking clothes on top of my things. Not for the first time, I wonder how much clout Santana must have around here to get this kind of service. I doubt they treat everyone who passes through this nicely.

"Looks like we have some clean clothes too," I say, running my hands down the linen shirt. "I guess you really are quite famous here."

Santana laughs and steps further into my room. "No, I just have the right friends."

I nod, knowing who she's referring to. "So that was Sue Sylvester. The greatest supplier for the Militia."

"Not what you expected?" Santana asks curiously.

I shake my head and think back to all the information I've collected on Sue Sylvester over the years. I can't help but laugh. "She's exactly how I expected, actually."

Santana arches a brow. "Another thing to mention to your father?"

I groan. Same old dance; my father is the General. I'm the enemy, I'm not entirely trustworthy, sleep with one eye open, etc., etc. I'm finding myself more and more just wanting to have a normal conversation with her. It would be supremely nice if not every conversation Santana and I had ultimately hinged on affiliations. And more and more I find that I just want to be us - Quinn and Santana: figuring out who we are together, not Quinn and Santana: mortal enemies.

I walk towards her and shake my head. "I wish you would stop mentioning my father. He's not here is he?"

"Not that I know of," she says, looking around as if she expects him to pop out of hiding. Her eyes land on mine and she flashes me a teasing grin.

I step up to Santana and reach out to grab her shirt, pulling her closer. "Such a smartass."

"You've got dirt on your face," she says still smiling. She reaches out and takes the side of my face in her hand, using her thumb to gently wipe at my cheek.

"I feel like I have it all over," I admit with a sigh. "My arms, my legs, my face, my back…"

Her hands drop to my waist, pulling me closer. "Need help washing it all off?" she teases.

I hum into her kiss, the idea of bathing with Santana sounding extremely appealing. I slide my arms around her neck and press into her as the kiss deepens.

It's getting harder and harder to keep myself from touching her, from kissing her. I relish these small, private moments where we can both let our guard down and just _be_.

She walks me backwards towards the bed and I moan against her lips when the back of my knees hit the mattress. I yank at the hem of her shirt, tugging it upwards, towards her head, _needing _to remove it.

"Oh, excuse me!"

The voice startles us both.

I pull her shirt back down over her body and she draws me against her to keep me from falling backwards on the bed.

Our heads turn towards the door to my room which I am more than shocked to find still opened. Specifically because of the potential such a stupid oversight on my part would cause. Like seeing Eric standing there, jaw half on the floor, holding a tray of bread, cheese and water and interrupting a rare and precious moment alone with Santana. "I'm so sorry!" he says, sounding particularly mortified. Join the club, Eric.

Santana clears her throat and steps away from me.

He awkwardly enters the room, his face bright red. "I'll just put your food…" He looks around frantically. "I'll just put it right here," he finally says, placing the tray on the table near the door.

He's so flustered he can barely look at us as he backs up into the wall behind him. I look over at Santana who arches her brow as he fumbles his way out the door. Mercifully, he has the good grace to close the door shut behind him as he goes.

When we're alone again, Santana turns back to me. We look at each other intensely for a moment before bursting into laughter. As embarrassing as it was that we left the door wide open only to get caught passionately kissing, I quickly find myself much more frustrated at being interrupted.

Santana leans in and kisses me lightly. "I'll see you downstairs," she mumbles as she pulls away.

"Really?" I ask her incredulously.

She just smiles. "Enjoy your bath," she says mischievously.

Despite wanting to pull her back towards me, I keep my hands by my side as Santana slowly backs out of my room, a playful smirk on her face. She pulls the door closed behind her with a soft click.

I fall backwards on the bed and let out a loud, frustrated groan.

* * *

The hot water feels good against my skin as I ease my way into the tub. I let out a long and audible sigh of pure pleasure as the water warms my entire body. I can already start to feel the dirt and grime leave my skin. It's been so long since I've had a hot bath. I had almost forgotten how truly amazing they feel.

I sit in the water for a moment, holding perfectly still as my muscles absorb the warmth and my body relaxes. I sink under the surface, wetting my hair and holding my breath until I have no more air in my lungs. Only then do I surface and pull in the cool air of the room.

I reach out for the small washcloth and bar of soap left next to the tub and wet them both, lathering the cloth with the tan scented bar. I bring the soap to my nose and inhale, closing my eyes at the sweet scent. It smells like honey.

Slowly, I begin to lather my body, scrubbing my arms and shoulders and then chest and stomach. I scrub down my legs and my feet, between my toes and back upwards, making sure to clean every inch of my skin all the way up to my face and neck.

I lather my hands and wash my hair, massaging my fingers deep into my scalp. I moan and dunk my hair under the water, rinsing the soap. When I sit back up I let out a long, relaxing breath and think back to Santana.

Her tongue meets mine as her hands twist in my hair, holding me tightly against her. My hands tug upwards on her shirt, my knuckles grazing her stomach as they lift the fabric higher. Only this time, we aren't interrupted. This time, the door is locked and I lift her shirt over her head before tossing it carelessly to the side, my hands instantly on her bare skin.

Sinking even lower down into the water, I rest my head back on the edge of the tub and close my eyes as my hand slips easily between my legs. I let my mind continue to wander about Santana and just how perfectly she would fit into this tub. How perfectly she would fit against me.

* * *

I'm the last one to join the rest of them downstairs.

They're already sitting at the bar, each with a glass in front of them. There's an empty stool next to Santana and a full glass of beer waiting for me. I smile.

I run my hands through my damp hair and adjust the new, clean, white linen shirt that was left for me in the hotel room. Santana's shirt is very similar only in black. It fits her so perfectly that I'm half-convinced they've tailored it just for her. She turns away from the conversation and her eyes meet mine. A smile stretches across her face.

"Feel better?" she asks as she offers me my drink.

"You have no idea," I tell her as I bring the glass to my lips.

She looks at me curiously, narrowing her eyes and tilting her head to the side. I can feel my face flush slightly as I think about how easily I called out her name in the bathtub. It's a wonder she didn't hear me across the hall.

The girl working behind the bar leans towards Santana and reaches out to playfully shove her shoulder, getting her attention. "Remember the time you got into that stupid argument with that random traveler over how to properly skin a rabbit?"

Santana groans. "Please don't remind me."

"You were so drunk," she laughs, shaking her head. "I thought you two were going to kill each other."

"Well, he was wrong and he wasn't listening," Santana says before finishing off the last of her drink.

The barkeep throws her head back and laughs. "You broke his jaw!"

"It's not my fault he couldn't take a punch!" Santana protests with a slight pout.

"Seriously?" I ask her in amused disbelief.

She shrugs as if it wasn't that big of a deal. "He was a wimp." I look past her towards Blaine, who is practically keeled over with laughter.

"Something you reminded him multiple times," the barkeep laughs again. "Let me know if you all need anything," she dismisses herself and walks off to the men who have just sat down at the end of the bar.

Blaine's laughter dies almost suddenly and his smile fades as something seems to catch his eye. "Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine."

When I look over at Blaine, I see him looking at something in the complete opposite direction. There's a young woman standing in the doorway, staring at us. She's pretty, blonde hair, tall, thin… I turn towards Santana and my heart stops. The blonde in the doorway isn't staring at _us, _she's staring at _Santana. _And Santana is staring right back.

I know instantly from the pained expression on Santana's face that the girl who just walked in must be Brittany.

Blaine clears his throat and looks over at Santana. She straightens in her chair as Brittany makes her way over. Santana looks more tense than I ever recall seeing her. Like she's preparing herself for a confrontation. But whatever it was Santana was expecting, it never comes. Instead, Brittany reaches out and throws her arms around Santana, pulling her into a tight embrace.

Santana is stunned and for a moment doesn't move. But as Brittany turns her head in towards her neck, Santana closes her eyes and returns the embrace, appearing to relax instantly.

I look awkwardly down at my drink, suddenly feeling as if I'm intruding on a very private moment. Rachel was right. They really were in love. And by the immediate looks of it, they still might be.

I feel like I'm going to be sick.

"Santana," Brittany says, _finally, _pulling out of her hold. She keeps one hand on Santana's arm and the uses the other to wipe away a few tears that are making their way down her cheeks. She sniffles and then smiles brightly. "I heard a rumor you were here but I didn't believe it. When did you get here?"

Santana swallows roughly and casts a quick look over at the rest of us as I glance up at her from over my glass. "We haven't been here long."

Brittany nods and then turns towards the rest of us for the first time since she's walked in. Her eyes light up when they land on Blaine. "Blaine!" She lunges at him and hugs him tightly, a much different type of hug than what she just shared with Santana but clearly excited to see him. She pulls away and runs her hands through his hair and grins. "You look fantastic!" He blushes instantly.

Then she looks over at Mike and me. She takes us in and stands back before shooting Santana a curious look. "Who are your friends?"

"This is Mike and this is Quinn," Santana says pointing to us. "And this," she says taking a deep breath, "is Brittany."

Brittany's smile softens as she leans in to give us both fleeting, but sincere hugs. "It's so nice to meet you both," she says kindly.

"It's nice to meet you too," I tell her. I know instantly that no matter how badly I'd like to hate her, it doesn't seem possible. Her genuine kindness and innocence is infectious and I know instantly why Santana was, and probably still is, drawn to her.

"We've heard good things," Mike adds.

Brittany looks over to Santana, surprised. "You've talked about me?"

Santana turns red and shifts uncomfortably in her stool. I guess it's my turn to return the rescue favor from earlier. I stand up and smile as best I can at them both. "We're just going to let you two catch up." Mike and Blaine follow my lead. Mike looks particularly grateful for the escape.

Santana looks at me, panicked. I don't know if it's because she doesn't want to be left alone with Brittany just yet or if it's something else. But what I do know is that I'm not ready to sit here and watch as their relationship is rekindled. Santana leans over. "Quinn, you don't have to - "

"It really was nice meeting you," I tell Brittany with a smile. I give Santana one last non-descript look and turn to walk away, Mike and Blaine close behind.

"Quinn," Santana calls out after me.

But I ignore her, heading for a table as far across the room as I can find.

* * *

**SANTANA'S POV**

I watch Quinn walk away with a frown. I know that look. It's similar to the expression she wears whenever Rachel is around. But this time it's worse. This time it doesn't just look like jealousy, it looks like she's hurt.

"Is she okay?" Brittany asks.

"I don't know," I say, running my hand through my hair. This whole time I had been so caught up in worrying about how I'd react to seeing Brittany again that I completely overlooked how it might affect Quinn. But that's what throws me even more. Why is Quinn reacting this way? Why is she so upset? What am I _really _to her? What is she to me? Why is this even an issue? Why do I care?

Why does this all have to be so complicated?

Ashley, our barkeep, suddenly appears in front of us. Her presence mercifully snaps my attention back to reality. "Hey, Brittany. Something to drink?"

"Water please," Brittany answers, resting her hands on top of the bar.

"Make that two," I say as Ashley begins to walk away. She smiles and nods, leaving me alone with Brittany once again.

And, as anxiously predicted, I realize I don't know where to begin. It's been so long since I've seen her that I find I'm not quite sure how to even start a conversation with her anymore. Four years is a relatively long time to go without speaking to each other.

Brittany seems to notice how uncomfortable I am. She leans in, bumping my shoulder with her own. "Don't look so tense," she laughs.

"How should I look?" I ask, looking over at her. "I mean, why aren't you…"

"Slapping the shit out of you?" she supplies.

My cheeks redden. "Yeah," I say honestly. I mean, if I were her, the way I just _left_ all those years ago, I'd hate me. Hell, I'd probably take a swing at me if I were her.

"To be honest, Santana, I'm too exhausted for that," she says with a sigh. When she looks up at me again, she suddenly appears hesitant. It's such a shift in her perpetually whimsical look that my internal alarms start to go off again. "There's something I need to tell you." I take a deep breath and stay quiet while she wrestles with how she wants to put whatever it is she wants to say. "Peter and I… we have a son. A newborn actually. His name is Aaron."

She looks so scared about how I'm going to react. Like she has told me something awful. I think briefly about feigning surprise, acting as if this is the first I've heard about it. But I know Brittany would be able to read straight through my bullshit. Instead, I smile at her. "I know," I say simply.

"How?" she asks, taken aback. But as soon as the question is asked, she brushes it aside with a laugh. "Who am I kidding? Of course you know. You're Santana. You know everything."

Ashley places two glasses of water in front of us with a wink.

"You know, for just having a kid you look pretty fantastic," I tell Brittany honestly. She does. She's practically glowing. She's exactly how I remember her, only her hair is a little messier and pulled out of her face and there are slight bags under her eyes.

"I look fat," she says with a lighthearted laugh.

I nearly spit out my water. I recover, shake my head and give her a serious look. "You could never be fat, Britt."

"You've just forgotten how thin I used to be," she says with a blush.

"I haven't forgotten anything about you," I promise. Her blue eyes meet mine. I look away quickly. "So how is Peter these days?"

"He's good," she says hesitantly. I smile at her, letting her know it's okay for her to talk about him. "I can only stay for a little bit then I need to get back to check Aaron."

I nod, understanding. "And how's George?" I ask.

"He just got back this afternoon. He's been sleeping. He's not getting any younger, you know? Life on the road isn't as good to him. But he won't give it up. He says he loves it too much." Brittany sighs and shakes her head. "I'll tell him you're here when he wakes up. I know he'd love to see you. You were like a granddaughter to him."

"Yeah. I'd like to see him too." I take a slow sip of my water and look off to my side towards Quinn. She's talking to Blaine, a smile on her face, while Mike laughs.

"Blaine looks good. He seems happy," Brittany says, looking over to the table as well.

I absently nod my head. "He is. We've both settled down and he's found someone who loves him."

"Good for him," Brittany says happily. She's quiet for a moment. "What about you? Are you in love?"

I turn to look at Brittany, thrown by the question. I can feel my face blush as I try and answer. "Ah…"

"Quinn and Mike seem nice," she continues.

"Yeah," I agree with a slow nod. I turn to look back over at Quinn. I watch her until her eyes find mine. She takes a long sip of her drink but her eyes never waiver.

"You're staring," Brittany finally says with an amused smile.

I pull my eyes away from Quinn without realizing how long I had actually been watching her. "Am I?" I ask ,reaching for my glass of water.

"Mmmhmm."

I have to laugh. "Yeah, I guess I am." I take another sip of water and wonder why, when it comes to these two women, I'm so prone to blushing like a fool.

"So you _are_ in love," she practically sings.

I nearly choke on my water as I shake my head and cough, trying desperately to pull myself together. "I definitely didn't say that!"

Brittany narrows her eyes, examining me closely. "But you _definitely_ care about her."

I look down towards the glass of water with a frown. "I shouldn't though."

"Why not?"

"She's not… she's Militia," I explain simply. Just like that.

Brittany's eyebrows raise high on her forehead and she turns to look at Quinn surprised. "Wow, really?" I nod my head and run my hand through my hair, looking down at my water and wishing I had asked for something much stronger. "But she's so pretty," Brittany says after a beat. "I think she likes you."

"Britt…," I say with a heavy sigh. I really don't want to talk about this. I'm not sure I'm ready to talk about this at all, let alone with Brittany.

Brittany reaches out to take my hand in her own and laughs. "Would you relax?" she chuckles. "I'm really glad you're here. Even if it is for official war business. I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too," I tell her honestly. We watch each other for a long moment, her thumbs dragging across my knuckles in a soothing gesture. I relax immediately, the simple gesture bringing back a flood of warm memories. In that instant I realize I'm being ridiculous. I can tell Brittany anything without judgment. That's one of the reasons I fell in love with her in the first place. I can just _be_ around her. No bullshit.

"So what have you been doing all this time?" she asks, gently removing her hands from mine.

I glance up at Quinn again, happy to see that she's talking with Blaine and doesn't appear to be brooding anymore. "Nothing, really," I shrug.

"Four years is a long time to do nothing," Brittany counters. A long moment passes between us. "Why didn't you come back?" She asks finally.

It was only a matter of time before we got to this. My eyes land on hers and my heart breaks. They are no longer happy and sparkling. And I hate myself for causing the sadness in them. "I couldn't," I tell her. "I couldn't come back, Britt."

"Why?"

As much as I want to look away, I don't. She deserves an answer and she deserves to be looked in the eyes when I give it to her. "I saw you with Peter. He made you happy," I tell her sadly.

"_You_ made me happy!" I wince at the pain in her voice. "Nothing happened between us, Santana. Not while I was with you. I swear."

I nod and swallow the large lump forming rapidly in my throat. "I know," I whisper. I know now. I even knew back then. But even then, in all my jealousy, I could see how happy he could make her. They could've had a real life together. A safe and comfortable life. I could never have given that to her.

"You should've told me. You should've told me you were leaving and weren't coming back," she says, tears forming in her eyes.

"I couldn't. You would've have let me go. And I had to leave, Brittany. I couldn't stay here. I didn't belong here." My tone is pleading, begging her to try and understand where I was coming from all those years ago. "You just would've gotten sucked into the war and I couldn't do that to you. You have to understand that."

"Well, I didn't. For a long time, I didn't. I was sick over you, Santana. I cried for days. It took me a long time to smile again." She wipes at her eyes, keeping the tears from falling. "You don't just end something like that on your own. You shouldn't have made that decision without talking to me first. It was really shitty of you and it wasn't fair."

"I know. You're right." I reach out and take Brittany's hand in my own, squeezing it tightly. "But I never, ever meant to hurt you."

"I know you didn't. But you did," she says sadly. "And you should've thought about that."

"I wasn't in a good place up here," I tell her, pointing to my head. "And as much as I loved you, I just couldn't stay. You deserved so much more than that. So much more than me."

"You were everything I wanted," she confesses softly.

"But you moved on," I half ask, half observe.

"I did," she agrees with a nod. "But it took me a long time. A really long time," she adds softly.

It's strange, really. I would've thought hearing that would've hurt more than it does. Instead, it brings me comfort. I squeeze her hand again and offer a small smile. "It did for me too."

Her eyes glisten again and she holds onto my hand tightly in both of hers. "A part of me will always love you, Santana," she whispers.

"I know. Same with me," I tell her honestly. "Are you happy?"

She nods. "I am."

"Good."

"But if you ever leave without saying goodbye again, and if you don't start keeping in touch, we're going to have serious problems," she warns.

I nod my head and laugh. "Deal."

Brittany pulls her hands away from mine and lets out a long breath. It's amazing how much lighter the air is between us. After years of dreading this moment, it's already passed and we can move on. I shouldn't be this surprised. Things always were easy with her. Brittany's sunny disposition was never one that was inclined to prolonged confrontations.

She glances to her side and shakes her head, her expression changing suddenly. "Seriously, what's going on between you and Quinn?"

I roll my eyes and groan, knowing I should've expected the conversation to swing back in that direction. "I told you. It's complicated."

She tilts her head to the side and looks at me. "Does it have to be?"

I look up at her. Yup, same Brittany as ever: She can still cut right through the bullshit with even the most innocent of questions. Unfortunately, I have no answer for her.

* * *

After spending a little more time with Brittany and hearing all about Aaron, she leaves me temporarily to go home to check on him and Peter, promising she'll be back.

I get a refill on my drink, only this time I opt for whiskey. Mentally preparing myself for the second time this evening, I take a quick sip and force myself to stand up and head over to the table on the far side of the room where my group is.

I pull a chair over from another table and set down in it next to Quinn. "Hey."

She glances at me briefly, her eyes following Brittany as she walks out the front door. "How did it go?"

"Better than expected," I tell her with a deep sigh of relief. She reaches for her drink and takes a sip with a nod. "I didn't know I'd run into her tonight," I offer lamely. "I mean, I knew I would see her at some point, just not tonight."

Quinn turns to me. She's smiling, but I know better. She's trying to hide how she's feeling, I can easily tell that much. But she looks so dejected. It isn't a look I want to see her wear.

"Well, you knew it had to be sooner rather than later, right? I mean, she's the love of your life. Isn't that what Rachel called her?"

I'm floored by the hurt in Quinn's voice. But what's worse is the sad look in her eyes. I don't owe Quinn any sort of explanation. I'm not even sure we're friends, let alone anything more than that. She doesn't know our history let alone what my feelings still are for Brittany. But regardless of whatever labels I feel like applying here, I do know that I'm starting to care about Quinn very much. And because of that, I feel like she deserves some sort of honest reply. "Listen, Quinn - "

"It's show time folks," Blaine says suddenly, straightening up in his seat and nodding towards the door.

I turn to see Will stepping through the entrance, flanked by two other men. His eyes scan the crowd and I stand, followed by Mike and Blaine. "No rest for the wicked," Quinn mumbles, knocking back the rest of her drink and standing as well.

Will's face lights up instantly when he spots me. I put my hand on the small of Quinn's back as he makes his way over, just needing to touch her, to give us both some sort of assurance. "You okay?" Her body relaxes slightly and she nods. I'm thankful for that at least. "Don't worry," I tell her, whispering in her ear. "I'm right here." She gives me a curious look as my hand drags across her back. My fingertips fall from her body as I step forward just as Will pulls me in for a tight embrace.

I can't help but smile at the gesture. It's been years since I've seen him and it feels nice to be with him again. I wrap my arms around him and hug him back. It feels good to be in his presence.

When he pulls away, he grabs my upper arms and laughs as he looks me up and down. "Look at you! You look amazing!"

I return the once over and wince. "I'd say the same about you but…," I pat his stomach with the back of my hand and give him a sympathetic look. "Gain a little weight there, Will?"

His smile fades and he looks down at his stomach. "Maybe just a little…"

I bring my hand up to pull at the curls on the top of his head, looking at it quizzically. "Has your hair started falling out?"

"Okay, okay," Will laughs and swats my hand away. "I get it." As impossible as it seems, his smile grows. "Is that Blaine?" He reaches out to pull him closer, examining him just as he did with me. "Look at your hair!" He cups his cheeks. "Look at that smile!" Will looks back and forth between us, putting one hand on either of our shoulders, a proud, fatherly look on his face. "Oh, wow, it's good to see you two. Come on, let's sit down."

Though the other two men have yet to approach, I can see them both tensed and ready to move in swiftly. It neither surprises nor offends me. I'd do the same if I were them. Bodyguards aren't much for friendly embraces from people they only know from word of mouth. One of them rests his hand on the hilt of his pistol and stares at me. I smirk at him and follow Will's lead, sitting back down at our table. "Who are your friends?" I ask.

"Jake and Ryder," he says pointing to the glaring one first.

I arch my eyebrow. "That's little Jakey?" The last time I saw him he was about fourteen years old with a bad attitude, following us around and wanting to shoot anything that moved. After Will points it out, I can definitely see the resemblance from his former self. He still has the baby face and threatening stare. The only difference? He's definitely filled out nicely. "He's grown up quite a bit," I say appreciatively, running my eyes down his bare arms.

I notice Quinn roll her eyes as she reaches for my whiskey. She takes a long sip.

"He's become quite the skilled fighter," Will says with a chuckle. He pulls up a chair and sits down. Right next to Quinn. She visibly tenses. Will looks between Quinn and Mike curiously.

I shift my chair closer to Quinn's instinctively and I point to Mike sitting on my other side. "This is Mike. He's one of the best sharpshooter's I've ever seen."

"That's quiet the compliment," Will says, reaching out to shake Mike's hand.

I drape my arm casually across the back of Quinn's chair and point to her with my other hand. "And this is Quinn." I think it's probably best not to elaborate. Will looks between us and then offers her his hand. She glances at me briefly, probably beyond pissed that she's sitting, utterly defenseless, between the Militia's number one and two biggest enemies. I stare back at her and offer her a small, encouraging smile.

She shakes Will's hand and to my surprise, she stares him in the eyes as she does so.

I'm sort of amused at the situation despite knowing I probably shouldn't be. But Quinn sitting between me and Will? And the equally famous Sue Sylvester wandering around doing Lord knows what? Quinn's gotta be in Rebellion hell. Just a few weeks ago I'm sure if someone told her she'd be in this position she would've laughed in their face.

"Nice to meet you." Will stares at her for a moment, his eyes glancing briefly at my arm draped behind her but then turns to me, his smile firmly in place. "Tell me about you! The occasional letter here and there doesn't really allow for much detail. How have you been?"

Ashley brings Will a glass of whiskey and I sigh, looking at my own glass resting loosely in Quinn's grasp. I had forgotten that Will's actually the reason I started drinking it in the first place. I remember him pouring me my first shot when I was eleven years old, much to the annoyance, and scolding, of my mother.

"I've been good," I tell him finally. "It's been somewhat quiet up until recently." I reach out and place my hand atop of Quinn's, meeting her gaze as I pull my glass back towards me.

Will watches curiously as I slip the glass from Quinn's fingers and bring it towards me, taking a slow, steady, sip.

"The simple life treating you okay?" He asks glancing at Quinn.

I can see Quinn watching me curiously from the corner of her eyes. I can tell by her posture that she knows Will is piecing us together. "I get antsy sometimes, but yeah. It's been nice."

Will shakes his head and leans back in his chair. "Just like your father."

Quinn looks at me with a sympathetic expression on her face at the mention of my father. I'm not surprised, really. If anyone understands how it feels to live in your father's shadow, it's her. I grip the back of her chair tightly and shift so I'm angled more in Quinn's direction. "How long have you guys been pushing West?" I ask, changing the subject.

"The past couple weeks. We've been moving slowly, but trying to stay ahead of the Militia." Will takes a slow pull from his whiskey and then turns abruptly towards Quinn. "Have we met? You look awfully familiar."

"I guarantee you we've never met," Quinn says seriously.

"So, they're definitely coming," Mike says, bring Will's attention towards him.

Will nods, a grave look on his face. "Oh yeah. They're definitely coming. In large numbers, too."

"How large?" Mike asks, glancing at me.

Will furrows his brow and turns back towards Quinn. My hand leaves my glass and reflexively falls to the hilt of my pistol. "What did you say you do exactly?"

Quinn meets his eyes. "I didn't," she says casually.

When it finally registers with Will, I can tell instantly. He stands up so quickly that his chair topples over, his glass of whiskey spilling across the top of the wood table. His pistol is in his hand, pointed directly at Quinn.

But I'm just as fast. I'm sliding back out of my chair and up on my feet before the wooden backing can even hit the floor. My gun is trained directly at Will's head.

It only takes two beats before Ryder and Jake are at the table with their own guns drawn. And, of course, so too are Blaine and Mike's weapons. Quinn is the only one still sitting, amazingly calm. She has both hands raised, palms up, slightly above her shoulders. She is staring at Will.

It took less than 3 seconds and we're all suddenly in the middle of a Mexican stand-off.

The tavern goes quiet as all eyes fall on us.

"Why is she here?" Will asks, his eyes never leaving Quinn for a moment.

"I suggest you point your gun someplace else," I tell him evenly.

His eyes flick to me, noticing for the first time that my pistol is aimed directly at _him_. His double take is textbook.

"Santana." It comes across as a half warn, half plea.

I answer by pulling back the slide.

"You can't be serious!" he says incredulously. When I don't answer, he finally tears his eyes away from Quinn to look at me. His eyes are wide. A moment after that, he seems to realize that we're not exactly alone. I watch him cast wary glances around the tavern.

The gravity of the situation seems to sink in. Slowly, he lowers his gun and holsters it. He raises his hands up in the air in surrender, giving me another look of disbelief.

I holster my own pistol and everyone else follows suit almost as quickly. I turn to look at Ryder and Jake and I nod towards the bar. They look at Will who nods as well, telling them it's okay to go. They obey.

There's this collective sigh of relief that goes through the tavern now that the guns are away. After a moment or two, conversations pick back up once again. It wouldn't be the first time they've seen a gunfight.

Will leans in close to me, his jaw clenched in anger. "What the _hell_ were you thinking, bringing someone from the Militia in here?" He glances around to make sure he wasn't overheard. "And a commanding officer?"

I glance at Quinn. Her eyes are even, showing no signs of any kind of emotion as she looks up at me.

"Santana, are you insane?" he hisses.

I narrow my eyes. "You know, I'm getting _really_ tired of people asking me that."

He gestures to Quinn, disgust plastered across his features. "And what's worse, you let me talk about the Rebellion in front of her!"

"First of all, you didn't say anything we didn't all already know," I fire back. Will rolls his eyes. "And secondly? She's here with me."

"She's here with you?" He practically spits. "I think you and I need to talk. Privately."

I see Mike and Blaine exchange a look. I glance over at Quinn and find her still staring at Will. She's got both palms flat on the table, but I can tell by the way she's sitting straight in her chair that she's prepared to defend herself if things go south again. I turn back to Will. "Alright, let's talk," I finally tell him.

"You need to get her out of here right now." He takes a step forward and reaches out towards Quinn, who immediately leans back away from his reach as far as her chair will allow.

I reach out and grab Will's wrist, giving it a twist. I then step in between him and Quinn, my grip tightening. Will's eyes go wide again. "Don't touch her," I growl. "You want to talk? Talk. But try and lay a hand on her again and I'll break your fucking fingers."

Will yanks his arm back, freeing himself of my hold.

All of a sudden, Brittany's there, seemingly materializing from out of nowhere. She moves slowly, allowing herself to be seen by both Quinn and I before slipping an arm around Quinn's shoulders almost protectively. "Let's get a drink and get to know each other."

She gives Quinn a reassuring smile and I watch as Quinn looks at Will and then at me before nodding. Brittany glances in my direction as she leads Quinn to the other side of tavern and sits her down at a table. She motions the barkeep over. Quinn appears patient enough, but I can tell by the look in her eyes that she's only going along with Brittany because she knows it's the only thing that'll calm me down.

Brittany always was good at diffusing awkward situations.

Blaine motions for Mike to follow Brittany's lead and they end up going to the bar, keeping a close eye on Jake and Ryder to prevent any further incidents.

I pull my chair back to the table and sit down. I look up at Will and wait.

He sits in the chair next to me and leans across the table. "What the hell has gotten into you?" I look at him but don't answer. "Santana, why is the General's daughter with you?"

I sigh. "They were jumped by Raiders outside of town. We brought the survivors in."

"As prisoners?" he asks. "Do you know they're looking for her? Right now, they're out there looking for her."

"I figured," I mumble and reach for my whiskey.

Will reaches out and places his hand on mine. I stare at his hand and then look up at him. "He has men spread out all over this area looking for her. When we heard, we all hoped that she was dead." I yank my hand away angrily and bring the glass to my lips. "Who would've guessed that she was being held prisoner by you," he snorts. "How many others are there?"

"Three," I answer simply.

He takes in the answer and nods. The smaller the number of survivors the better. "Where are the rest of them?"

"Back in town." Will looks at me with such a look of shock I think his eyes might actually fall out of their sockets. "Would you relax? They're not going anywhere. They're… contained."

"_Contained?_" he whisper-yells. I shrug. He glances at Quinn watching us from across the room. "So why isn't she, 'contained_' _along with them?"

I knock back the rest of my drink. "She's my leverage."

"Bullshit," Will spits.

I motion for Ashley to bring me another drink. She nods warily. I turn to look at Will, my teeth clenched. "What else was I supposed to do? Let them go and have them bring the Militia straight back to us? Put the town in danger?"

"You could've killed them," he answers simply.

"No," I say, shaking my head. "I'm not that person anymore."

"So you put every other town in this area in danger while you got emotionally invested with the _General's daughter?_" Will leans back in his chair and pinches the bridge of his nose. Something he used to do a lot when I was younger and being reckless. "This is unbelievable. You're just like your father."

I roll my eyes as Ashley places another round down in front of both me and Will. "What the hell are you talking about?" I ask once she's walked away.

Will motions towards Quinn. "You're fraternizing with the Militia!"

"Fraternizing? Are you serious?"

He gives me a hard look. "You can't trust her."

"I never said I did," I fire back quickly.

Will watches me for a moment while I take a long sip from the glass. "Are you in love with her?"

"Are you kidding me?" I ask disbelievingly.

"If you're not, you're well on your way," he says, reaching for his own glass. He lifts it towards him and points at me from around the glass. "Because I know that look. The one on your face when you're close to her. I know it."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"It was the same look your father had whenever he was near your mother." He places the glass gently down on the table and gives me a serious look. "This is a dangerous game you're playing, Santana."

I roll my eyes. "It's not a game."

"If people find about this -"

"It's not going to change anything," I cut him off.

"It changes _everything!_" he seethes and leans forward over the table. "You fall in love with that girl and you're eventually going to find yourself in a situation where you have to choose. Her or us. If you have to face her -" I lean away from him with a groan. "No, you listen to me." I look back at him and cross my arms. "If you have feelings for her, you _will_ start to hesitate. That makes you a liability."

"I won't hesitate," I tell him evenly.

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "Let's just say that you don't for now. Let's say you fight like nothing has changed. That's fine. That's perfect. But think about tomorrow, for once. People know she's missing. And now they've seen her here. Even if they don't know exactly who she is, now they know her face from today. They'll know that she was here _with you. _They're going to talk. Word is going to get back to her father -"

"It still doesn't change anything," I interject. "He's coming this way regardless of whatever it is that's happening between me and Quinn. And it doesn't matter anyway because I'm going to let her go once we get back. She can rejoin her father and things will go back to however they were before," I mumble.

"No, you don't _understand!_" he says, frustrated.

I lean closer to him, growing more and more annoyed with the circles he's talking in. "Then explain it to me!"

He stares at me for a long moment, thinking carefully about his next move. I arch my eyebrow and wait. Finally, he stands from the table. "Let's go for a walk."

I'm surprised. That's not exactly where I thought this was going. But whatever it is he wants to tell me, he doesn't want to say it in the middle of a crowded tavern. I glance over at Quinn who is watching me intently, only turning to Brittany when she's replying.

I don't want to leave Quinn. In fact, I'm so pissed at Will that I'd love nothing more than to tell him to go fuck himself. But he shifts his weight from one foot to the next and looks around impatiently.

So I knock back the rest of my drink and stand. "After you."

He looks at Jake and Ryder and motions for them to stay before leading me out of the tavern. I give Quinn one last look glimpse before stepping out into the night with Will.


	10. Chapter 10

**SANTANA'S POV**

We walk for several minutes in silence. I don't trust myself to speak first, anyway. A part of me is absolutely furious that he pulled a gun on Quinn. But the other part, the sensible, realistic part, knows that he did what any other rational Rebel would do if they found themselves face to face with a commanding officer of the Militia.

It makes me wonder for the umpteenth time what the hell I'm doing.

Will finally turns the corner and walks up a small dirt path to a whitewashed building. I glance up at it and snort. Of course he'd take me here.

He pushes on the worn, red door and steps inside. I cautiously follow him in.

There are candles lit near the front of the building and off to the sides. It gives the entire room an eerie glow. I walk over to them, the wax melting down the sides and the flames burning high, barely flickering.

These are the kind of candles that are always burning with the symbolism of people's hopes and prayers. Even after all the destruction and violence and destitution, people still choose to seek out a higher power, to put their faith in something that so rarely makes itself known these days.

That's why all these candles are lit. And it's kind of pretty really. It's nice to know that not all people have given up hope.

But regardless of the candles constantly burning, church's have always creeped me out.

I watch Will look around the empty space for a moment before he finally turns to look at me. He looks hesitant. I cross my arms and wait.

He runs his hands down the back of an empty pew, avoiding my eyes. "When your father met your mother, he had no regard for rules or regulations. He came and went as he pleased and did what he wanted, when he wanted. He was young and naïve. We both were. When it came to women, he was very… adventurous."

I roll my eyes. "You brought me all the way out here to tell me about my father's sex life?"

Will shoots me a look but continues. "One day, your father and I were sent to scout this area out on the coast. There was a a lot of intel coming out of small, neighboring towns outside one of the larger command bases for the Militia back East. We were relatively young and still trying to prove our worth to the Rebellion. It took us awhile, but thanks to a deep-cover Rebel agent, we eventually gained access inside one of the Militia's greatest city allies. Our guy snuck us in over one of the walls one night. We were both a little crazy to prove ourselves back then. We swore to ourselves that we were going to take the city down from the inside out. Ourselves." He smiles fondly at the memory. "But we were at least smart enough to know how incredibly outnumbered we were, so we settled for collecting as much info as we could. Took us a few days, but we ended up with an incredibly impressive scouting report that was sure to land us both big time promotions. So we celebrated by having a few drinks at a Militia tavern in town. Like I said, we were young." Will pauses and gets a faraway look on his face. "That's where we first saw Maria. When your father met her, everything changed."

I sigh. I've heard this story countless times from my parents. They both liked to tell me about the night they met and fell in love. "I know how this goes. They met, they fell in love and nine months later I'm introduced to the world. They headed West to keep me from the heart of the war despite my dad's prominent role in the Rebellion. He gave it all up for love. Gave it all up to protect me. I know all this."

"That's what they _told_ you, yes," Will counters at once.

My eyes narrow. "What are you talking about? Are you saying they made all that up?" I scoff.

Will licks his lips and looks around again to make sure we're alone. We are, but he takes another step closer anyway and lowers his voice. "No, that really happened. They did fall in love and they did run away from the war. But what you have to understand is that they didn't just do it for your safety. They did it for their own. See, at that time, Maria already belonged to someone else. It was common knowledge around the city that she was already taken by Lieutenant Russell Fabray."

Ice water. To the face. I'm breathless. But then, I'm also incredibly skeptical. "What do you mean _taken_?"

"They were to be married," he elaborates.

That's what I was afraid he meant. I shake my head. There's no way that's true. My parents would've told me. They would've mentioned it. There's no way my mother could have ever married someone like Russell Fabray. "No. No way. You're lying." I realize I'm whispering now.

"At the time, it was her only option. If she couldn't marry for love, why not marry high in the Militia rankings? But Maria fell in love with your dad instantly. And Cale made no attempt at hiding his love for her. Russell was far to the south when your dad and I met your mother in that town. Russell was completely out of the picture. Your parents were inseparable for weeks. It wasn't until word got back to us that Russell was victorious and on his way back north when your mother announced she was pregnant." He looks at me, gauging my reaction before continuing. "She was terrified of what Russell would do when he found out. Your father wanted to stay and face Russell, fight him for your mom the honorable way, but your mom was scared of Russell. She begged your father to run away. He was reluctant, but eventually said he said he would if she came with him. He was worried of what would happen to her if he left." Will gives me a small, sad smile. "And they were both incredibly worried about what might happen to you. So they agreed that protecting you came first. And they left that night."

"So, they met each other, fucked around, my father knocked up my mother and they ran out west to hide from Russell because they were scared he'd kill us all," I summarize. Will gives me a look to let me know he's not crazy about the frank description, but nods his head anyway. "But it wasn't long before Russell found out, right? I mean, he'd had to have been an idiot not to hear about it, the way dad flaunted it around town, right?"

Will nods again. "When Russell returned, he was furious at your father. He was furious at your mother too, but your father had embarrassed him. Had taken the woman he loved right from under him. Russell became a man hell bent on revenge."

"But my dad never left the war. He would disappear for weeks at a time to fight the Militia," I say. I remember my mother staying awake at night pacing in front of the window and waiting for my father to return home.

"Well, Cale never was one to pass up a good fight," Will mumbles regrettably. "He was always paranoid Russell would find you all. He was always tracking his movements, monitoring the Militia to make sure they weren't getting close."

The more I listen to him, the angrier I get. "Okay, so what's your point? What does this even have to do with me anymore? My father is dead. Isn't that all Russell wanted? Well he got it. So what's your fucking _point_?"

"Because you're _his_ daughter!" he says it as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "You, by default, inherit the target that your father had."

"I'm also my mother's daughter. Should I be worried that Russell's going to try and fuck me too?"

Will rolls his eyes. "_Think_ about it, Santana. He's blinded by hatred. He already hates you for that five year revenge-kick you went on. And now you're… doing whatever it is you're doing with his daughter? You are worse than public enemy number one. If Russell were to find out about this, too? I can just about guarantee you that he would not stop until he found you. He'd do whatever it takes to come for you."

I look away from him. He takes a deep breath and continues. "It doesn't matter that you're half Maria's. To him you're 100% Cale's. And that alone is enough for him to want you dead. But you're right. Maybe being half Maria's has kept him from putting in the same effort to find you that he did to find Cale. Who knows." He runs his hand through his hair, exasperated. "But this? This _thing _you're doing with Quinn? What do you think he's going to do when he finds out that the daughter of his greatest nemesis is bedding his only daughter?" I slowly lift my eyes to meet his. "Do you really think he's going to let that happen? If he finds out, it will be the same thing that happened with your parents all over again. Only this time it'll be much worse. He's got a lot more power now than he did back then. He commands the entire Militia. And when he finds out about this - and he _will_, Santana - he will send every single man possible, every resource he has, to hunt you down."

I can't help but roll my eyes. "Oh, my God." Will always was one for the dramatics.

"You have to let her go, Santana," he says firmly. "You have to do what your father couldn't and let her go before it's too late."

I can actually feel my face flush with anger. My fists are balled tightly at my sides to keep from shaking. How dare he presume to tell me what I can and can't do with my life. He's not my father and he sure as hell doesn't get a say in how I live my life. Not anymore.

I step up to him, my teeth clenched and my body tense. "There are two things wrong with your theory. One: Quinn doesn't _belong_ to anyone. She has a right to make her own choices. And that includes choosing to be with anyone she wants, including me. And if I have feelings for her, too, well then that is _our_ business. Not her father's and certainly not yours." He starts to respond but I close the distance between us and give him a hard look. "And two: I'm not my father. So if the General wants to send an army after me and fight me face to face over his _pride_, so be it. Until then, stay the hell out of my personal life."

We look at each other for a moment. I am so angry at everything he's just said that all I want to do is shove him, to slap him across the face and tell him he has no right to lecture me about anything regarding my life. Especially since he's the one that let my father die.

But the look on his face stops me short; It's one of the saddest looks I've ever seen. He looks haunted. And heartbroken. I need to get out of here. I need to clear my head and calm down before I do something stupid and reckless.

I turn and storm out of the church, shoving a wooden chair out of my way as I do.

"Santana!" Will calls out desperately.

I ignore him and head straight for the one person I know that can take away all the hurt and frustration that I'm feeling.

* * *

I push open the tavern door and step inside. The crowd has thinned out since the standoff from earlier. It's late and most of the patrons have gone home. I see Blaine and Mike at the bar. Will's two faithful dogs, Jake and Ryder, are nowhere in sight.

But neither is Quinn.

I make my way over to Blaine and Mike, scanning the room for her face as I go. I don't see Brittany there either.

"You look like you could use a drink." Mike says when he sees me coming.

"Where's Quinn?" I ignore him.

They exchange a worried glance. "She went up to the room. Hasn't left," Mike answers quickly. "Are you okay?" "You look… pretty pissed."

"Never better." I mutter and turn towards the stairs.

I take two at a time with determined precision as I head for her room.

* * *

**QUINN'S POV**

I practically jump off the bed in surprise when I hear the loud, hurried knocking at my door.

I push the covers off and make my way towards the door in nothing but my t-shirt and underwear. I contemplate looking for some sort of weapon, just in case. But besides the glass plate from my midnight snack and the belt to my pants, I come up short.

"Quinn, open up, it's me," I hear Santana say from the other side of the door.

I sigh in relief and reach out to unlock the door. And then she's there, standing alone in the darkened hallway.

The several candles scattered around the room give just enough light for me to see the terribly confused look on her face. She looks she's either about to scream or cry. I'm not sure what happened with her and Will, but I doubt it was good. I have the sudden urge to pull her into my arms and hold her. But I think better of it at the last moment.

Instead, I take a step back and hold the door open to allow her to enter. "Santana, are you -" I manage to start before she reaches out and pulls me against her, kissing me so roughly that I actually groan at the forceful way her mouth captures mine.

She reaches behind her and throws the door closed and fumbles for a moment as she tries to blindly lock the deadbolt. After a few seconds, she gives up, spinning me around and pushing me against the door so she can lock it without breaking our kiss.

Before I can really react, her hands are underneath my shirt and moving up. I moan as she cups both breasts in her hands. She moves so quickly, with such determination. It's clear that Santana isn't in the mood to tease. I don't complain.

My hands reach blindly for the buttons of her pants. She kisses me harder and unbuckles the holsters from around her waist. It's barely off before I manage to snap open the last button on her pants.

I kneel down, pulling her pants down her thighs as I go. She reaches down to help, but the fabric gets caught on her boots. "Fuck," she curses and bends down.

Between the two of us, we manage to fumble and untie both boots, which she immediately kicks off somewhere else in the room. I stand, but she doesn't come with me. Instead, her hands are instantly against the backs of my legs as she leans in, kissing my inner thighs and running her hands up my body. I run both hands through her hair and spread my legs instinctively as her frantic kisses trail up closer. She pauses only slightly at the top of my thighs to take a slow, deep breath.

I close my eyes. I can already smell my own arousal.

Suddenly, she's standing and her lips are on my neck. She presses her body tight against mine. I pull her in closer, slipping my hands under her shirt and around to her back. I dig my fingers into her skin keeping her tight against me.

She sucks roughly along my jaw and I feel her hand glide down my stomach. With one hand, she pulls my underwear to the side so that she can slide her hand against my center. She begins to slide her fingers up and down. My head falls back against the door and I'm left gasping for breath. "Please," I tell her as I press my mouth against the side of her head. "Please, Santana."

She responds by reaching up and wrapping both of her arms around my body. She sucks on the curve of my jaw and pulls me backwards with her. I follow blindly. We stop when the back of her legs hit the edge of the bed.

She tumbles down backwards onto the bed and pulls me down with her. I swing my leg over her and straddle her waist. She grabs the hem of my shirt and pushes it upwards. I reach down and pull it over my head, helping her. I toss the shirt over my shoulder and look down at Santana.

Her hands are my sides, holding me tightly, her eyes drinking in every single inch of my skin. And for a moment, I watch her, tremendously enjoying being hungrily looked at. I reach down and grab her shirt in handfuls, pulling her up to me. She props herself up and sets her mouth against mine again.

I tug up on her shirt, desperately needing to rid her of it. She lifts her arms so I can yank it from her body. This too, I toss over my shoulder. I quickly bring my hands down to unhook her bra. I fumble with the front-clasp slightly and push myself up on my knees so that Santana can continue to pull my underwear down and away from my legs. After a little maneuvering, she succeeds in pulling one of my legs through just as I manage to unclasp her bra. I let it fall to the bed before pulling my other leg from my underwear, freeing myself of the garment.

Santana's hands are on my back and she pulls me towards her. I adjust myself on top of her, wrapping my legs around her waist and leaning forward so that my forearms come to rest on her shoulders. A deep shudder runs through me as I feel our bare chests tightly press together. Santana leans up towards me and drags her lips across my neck.

I toss my head back and moan as she runs her hands down the length of my body. One hand stops at the small of my back while the other travels lower; her fingertips tickling the inside of my thighs as she drags them inwards.

I release a long anticipated breath and grab the back of her neck as her fingers slide easily up and down my folds, the pads of her fingers brushing my clit with each long stroke.

I pull myself upright as she starts to find a rhythm against me. She takes advantage of the new position by arching up higher to begin kissing my collarbone and slowly moving downwards. Her tongue snakes out and traces the curve of my breast and I dig my hands into her hair, holding her against me. Her fingers continue to rub, relentless.

My eyes drop to watch as she sucks roughly on the top of my breast, her tongue coming out to taste my skin briefly before capturing my nipple in her mouth. And just as she lightly bites down, her fingertips slowly enter me.

All the air is sucked from my lungs at the feeling of her inside of me, the speed of her hand gradually increasing. Her head lifts and she leans in, our mouths crushing together in a bruising kiss. Her movements are fast and steady and my hips move on their own, rocking back and forth as her fingers thrust into me.

I know at once I'm not going to last long.

I pull away from the kiss, gasping for air and I rest my forehead against hers. I can feel her breath on my face and I squeeze my eyes shut as she goes deeper, her hand on my back, pulling me even closer.

"Quinn," she breathes. But I don't answer. I don't think I'm capable anything but rocking against her. "Quinn, look at me," she says more forcefully. The tone of her voice is pleading, begging me to obey.

So I do. And her eyes… her eyes are so dark. But they convey something else. They're so… vulnerable.

She looks at me for a moment, our gazes locked as I do everything I can not to unravel in that very moment. She searches my eyes and looks at me. Really _looks_ at me.

It's beautifully terrifying.

And then her mouth is back on mine. Kissing me deliberately, deeply. And everything slows. It's no longer rough and desperate. But loving and measured.

And my body can't take it anymore.

Just like the change of her movements, I don't come undone in a quick and passionate release. Instead, my orgasm comes slowly. The tension builds so gradually that when it hits, I am utterly stunned at how powerful it is. I bury my face against Santana's neck and squeeze my eyes tightly shut. "Santana, oh my God," I breathe. My hot breath bounces off of her skin and warms my face as the tingling grows into a steady burn, the most pleasurable stinging courses throughout my entire body.

When my body finally comes down and the convulses have stopped, I find that I'm still slowly rocking on her fingers. She waits until my body completely relaxes before slowly slipping her fingers from my body. I groan at the sad feeling of them leaving me and let my head fall to her shoulder.

She reaches out and takes my face in her hands, pushing sweaty hair from my face.

My eyes meet hers and she smiles softly before leaning in to gently press her lips to mine. We kiss slowly, her tongue sliding lazily against mine.

I push her backwards until she is laying flat on the mattress, me still straddling her. I look down the length of her body. My hands reach out and run up along her skin and down again. I feel like I need to touch her everywhere. To press my palms into her abs and rake my fingers across her ribs and upwards before cradling her breasts in my hands. I rub my thumbs across her nipples, eliciting a groan from her.

Her breath is rapid and she squirms underneath of me. I lower myself on top of her, dragging my lips up the length of her neck and sneaking my tongue out to suck on her skin. I want to taste every inch of her skin. But I crave her kisses so much that my mouth never strays far from hers.

I rest my weight on my forearm and slip my hand between our bodies. I bend one of her legs and she wraps the other around my waist, helping me settle comfortably between them both.

I kiss her deeply as my hand slides between us. Between her legs. I turn my wrist to get a better angle and make slow circles with my fingers. She pulls her mouth away and tosses her head back, moaning.

I groan at the sound of it.

I press my lips to her collar and slip my fingers easily inside of her. Another moan eases past her lips.

Santana's head stays back, her eyes firmly shut. One of her hands digs into my shoulder while the other grips the bed sheet tightly in her fist.

I alternate from watching her and from kissing her, still unsure of which I like better. Her eyes are closed and her mouth parted. She's panting, her breath coming in rapid succession. She's close.

I lean in and start to lightly suck on her bottom lip. When I feel her start to shudder against me, I lean back to watch. It's stunning, watching Santana come undone. It's probably the most exquisite thing I've ever seen.

And when my name falls from her lips, I'm absolutely certain I have never heard a more perfectly beautiful sound.

I move my fingers slowly until her body stops trembling. I slip them from her slowly and she sighs, her eyes still closed as her hand falls from around my shoulder and drops beside her on the bed.

I look down at her and reach out to gently run my fingers down the length of her face. Her eyes open and she looks at me. I smile softly and she lifts up on her elbows, leaning forward to kiss me again. We stay that way for long, drawn out moments, until the sweat starts to dry on our bodies and we press together just a little bit more closely to soak in each other's heat.

Santana recovers quickly and suddenly her hands are on my shoulders. Her legs lock around my waist and she flips me over onto my back, reversing our positions. I would protest, but the view is too hard to argue against.

She looks down at me, a predatory look on her face before she once again claims what's hers.

* * *

**SANTANA'S POV**

I turn my head and place a long, wet kiss against Quinn's stomach and smile when I feel her sigh beneath my lips. I turn my head, pressing my cheek against her skin and let out my own sigh as her fingers rake slowly through my hair. I can still taste the sweat on her skin and think fleetingly about having Eric bring us some hot water so we can we take another bath.

But I'm too comfortable to move. And the thought of this moment being interrupted pushes the idea out of my head just as fast as it appeared.

My body hasn't felt this relaxed in I don't remember how long. My eyes are heavy and I'm warm and comfortable. The flickering orange flame of the handful of candles lit around the room makes me sleepy, but my mind is still very much awake. Everything that Will said earlier in the church still circulates in the background.

I'm not sure what to make of it all. I'm angry, disappointed, and confused. To think that everything I thought my father stood for in this grand war against the Militia was a lie. He wasn't fighting for "Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness". He was fighting for my mom.

My father and Russell Fabray spent years fighting each other over my mother. Fighting for their pride over a woman!

I squeeze my eyes shut. I cannot believe that everything I thought I knew about my father, about the war, has been a fucking lie.

"You seem lost in thought." Quinn's gentle voice pulls me from my thoughts and my body instantly relaxes.

"Mmm," I hum in agreement. I do my best to force everything but Quinn and this moment out of my thoughts.

"Honesty hour?"

I can't help but smirk. "I don't know. Do you need me to keep track of how many questions you ask so you don't get confused again?" She none too gently smacks the top of my head. It only makes me laugh. "Okay, okay. I'll play. You first."

But all of a sudden she goes quiet. I'm about to ask her if she's already forgotten what she wanted to say when she finally speaks up. "What are you thinking about?"

I lift my head and look down at her. I can't help the annoyance that creeps into my tone. "Really? You couldn't have gone for something a little less complicated? Like, how you rate in the bedroom, for example?"

"First of all," she says, her fingers still in my hair. "If how loud you screamed and how hard and fast you came is any indication, I think it's pretty fair to say I rank pretty high."

I narrow my eyes at her. "Hey, it's been a long time since I've had any sort of release, okay? Unlike _some_ people who seemed to have enjoyed their bath earlier just a little _too_ much."

"Whatever," she says smugly, not all phased by my accusation. Her hands slide down to hold my face gently. "Seriously, are you okay?"

I sigh. "I was just thinking about…things."

"What sort of things?"

I lower myself back down so that my cheek is once again pressed against her stomach and I wrap my arms tightly around her. I'm rapidly coming to the conclusion that this spot, right here, is my safe place. "You, first of all," I admit. "And everything with Will."

"Do you want to talk about it?" She asks softly.

"I just… he's the only thing I have left of my parents. He was my father's best friend. He's always been my Uncle Will," I find myself telling her. "When my father died, I blamed him. I blamed him for a long time. I think a part of me still does," I sigh. "It's stupid. It wasn't his fault. I know deep down that it wasn't. My dad was going to… he would've done it one way or another. After my mom died, he was never the same. He was just a shell of himself. Even though that's all on my dad, a part of me has always blamed Will anyway. It's one of the reasons I ran away from him. And now he's here and he's telling me all these things… I don't know. I'm just still kind of angry at him. And I hate him for coming back into my life and stirring things up." I angle my head so I can look up at her. "Pretty dumb, huh?"

"It's not dumb," she tells me with a small smile. Her fingertips carefully trace my eyebrows. "What happened to your mom?"

"She died from the flu." I swallow roughly. I very rarely talk about my mother. Even to Blaine. "I was twelve. I think that's what made it so hard. We're all so used to people dying at war. That's just kind of the expectation. But the flu?" I can feel the tears forming in my eyes as I talk about it. "One day she was perfectly healthy. The next…" I shake my head, willing myself not to cry. But I fail as a single tear escapes and makes its way down my cheek. "I don't think either of us understood that kind of death," I whisper as Quinn dries the tear from my skin. "We left the house shortly after. That's where we buried her."

"Have you been back there since?" She doesn't mention the tear. I'm immensely grateful.

I take a deep breath, gathering myself and blinking back the rest of the tears in my eyes. "No. But I'd like to. I always figured I would. It's one of the only places that I've ever felt safe. Life there was… simple. I think that's why I tried to recreate by settling into town, you know?"

"It's why I always dreamed of running away," Quinn admits. "Starting a life that's simple. A life that's not… this."

"Have you ever stopped and thought about why we're still at war? Why we're fighting? And I don't just mean for the obvious, what they tell us about growing up. 'We hate the way the Militia rules so we started an uprising, blah, blah, blah.'" I prop myself up on my elbows and look down at her. "I mean; why _we're_ fighting. You, me, Blaine, Sam..."

"All the time," she says with a nod.

"So then what are we doing? Why is there such a deep _personal_ hatred between us? Our parents had their reasons, but why do we have ours? They hated each other so now we have to hate each other too? Why?" I ask her, maybe a little bit more desperately than I'd have liked.

She looks up at me, confused and hesitant. "What do you mean?"

Of course she doesn't have the answer. I don't even have the answer to that. I shake my head, brushing away my thought. "Nothing. Just thinking out loud."

"Santana," she prompts. She knows I have a reason for asking. But I'm not sure I'm ready to share it with her yet.

"I don't want to talk about it anymore," I say as I settle down onto my forearm. I run my hand up her leg, stopping at her waist. I lower my mouth, kissing along her abdomen. "I just want to be here with you," I tell her dragging my lips downwards.

I scrape my teeth along her inner thigh and her head back falls back on the pillow. "Me too," she sighs, giving in.

I smile as my tongue reaches out to taste her.

* * *

**QUINN'S POV**

My eyes open slightly, but close again with the heavy weight of them. I stretch my arms above my head and rotate my shoulders while also stretching out my legs. I take a deep breath and try opening my eyes again. It's fairly dark. The candles have burned out long ago. The only light comes from the sunlight peeking in through the curtains. I guess it's morning.

I shiver slightly and pull the blankets up over my naked body. The memories of last night flood through my mind and I smile at the thought of them. Turning my head to the other side of the bed, I find it empty. The covers are pulled back and Santana is gone.

I reach out to touch the empty space on the bed and find that it's cold. She's been gone for awhile.

With a sigh, I roll my body towards Santana's side of the bed. I stare at the indentation on the pillow and tuck the blankets under my chin.

I can't keep the smile off my face.

* * *

I make my way down the stairs of the tavern, smiling slightly at the scent of Santana on the black shirt she left behind. I feel like a teenager as I inhale deeply, relishing in the feeling of having her still wrapped around me. I look for her briefly but am not surprised to find that she's not there.

I am surprised, however, to find that Mike and Blaine are nowhere to be found either. I thought for sure one of them would keep an eye on me around town. Either they're starting to trust me or they know I won't get very far if I manage to make it past the town gates.

I think vaguely about making a run for it, but I think back to Sam and Jesse and know I shouldn't do anything to jeopardize their safety. So I sit down on one of the barstools and hope I can get some sort of breakfast in me before I venture out and try to get a sense of the layout of Arlington.

"Santana said to give you this when you made your way down," Ashley says, placing a bowl of oatmeal and a plate of fresh fruit in front of me. I look up at her and she gives me a knowing smirk.

"Thank you." I pull the items closer towards me and I smile, not caring at all that she probably knows exactly how I spent the majority of my evening.

The oatmeal is quite good and I finish it off rather quickly as I idly think about where Santana might be. I wonder if last night has changed anything. I know something happened between her and Will last night, something pretty big. But I also know that even if I manage to get it out of her, she would probably only give me bits and pieces. Just like I'm doing with her.

But I also know that things have just become increasingly more complicated. The more time I spend with her, the more intimate we become and the closer we get, the harder it is for me to keep things from her. The harder it is for me to _want_ to keep things from her.

And that's very dangerous.

And then there's last night - all the talk of _why_ we're fighting each other has me thrown for a loop. This coming from a woman who has killed hundreds of Militia singlehandedly without a second thought? Why is she suddenly so thrown by it all?

It's becoming more and more clear that she's just as torn about being involved in this war as I am, if not more so. And I know it has something to do with what Will told her last night.

But if Will had some kind of crazy intel on me that he shared with Santana, I doubt she would have come to my room for sex. In fact, she probably would've shoved her gun in my face and demanded answers.

So whatever it was that Will told her, I doubt it has anything to do with me directly. Which just makes me feel worse about keeping things from her. And I definitely shouldn't feel bad about keeping Militia based topics secret. She is, after all, the enemy.

So why do I feel so conflicted about it all?

I sigh and pick slowly at the remainder of my food. Now I'm even more desperate to find Santana. I'm all but finished my breakfast when someone places a hot cup of coffee in front of me. Instantly I know this isn't good. My body tenses as that same someone slips into the barstool next to me. The scent is familiar and makes my stomach churn.

"Hello, Lieutenant." I turn to look at the man next to me. The color in my face drains at the sight of him. "I've been looking for you for a very long time."


	11. Chapter 11

**QUINN'S POV**

I straighten in the stool and take in his arrogant smirk. My lip curls in disgust. "Hello, Brody. Still mulling around with Rebel lovers I see," I say, bringing the coffee mug to my lips. "But infiltrating Arlington is rather ambitious even for you, don't you think?"

He laughs and motions the barkeep over. "I'm not here for information regarding the war. I'm here for you," he says easily. Ashley stops in front of him and waits. "Another coffee please. And," he glances over at my plate, "whatever it was she had. It looked delicious." Ashley looks back to me and I meet her eyes, careful not to give anything away. Her eyes are back on Brody and she nods before walking away.

"How did you know I'd be here?" I ask him.

"I didn't. This is the…seventh city I've been to looking for you." He gives me a pointed look. "Your father was worried when you didn't check in."

"I bet he was," I say dryly. "How long have you been here?"

"Since yesterday morning." Ashley places a steaming cup of coffee in front of him and he smiles at her, waiting for her to walk away.

"How many did he send after me?" I ask with a touch of amusement when she leaves.

Brody takes a moment to blow on the steaming hot coffee. "Just me. He wanted to keep things… _discreet_."

I nod, though, in truth, I'm actually surprised he'd send anyone after me. He typically only sends out infiltrators like Brody to take out high ranking Rebellion personnel or to extract sensitive information about the Rebels. Not for Lieutenants in the Militia. I guess maybe the General is more concerned for his daughter than I would've thought. "Your orders?" I ask curiously.

"Find out if you were dead or alive. And, if you were alive, to use discretion on whether or not you needed extraction." He takes a small, hesitant sip from his coffee and then places the mug on the countertop.

I arch an eyebrow. "So that's why you're here? To rescue me?"

He chuckles. "Actually, I gotta tell you, I was going to when you first walked through those gates. But things have been pretty interesting around here the past couple of days. First, Will waltzes in, then Santana Lopez finally emerges from hiding… with _you_ no less." He shoots me a devious look. "Before I extracted you I just _had_ to see what was happening."

A slow panic begins to creep into the pit of my stomach. Brody is the best infiltrator at my dad's disposal. And now he's here, for me, and I have absolutely no idea what he knows or what he's seen since his arrival to Arlington. He's a complete asshole but he's incredibly good at what he does. His attention to detail is a pretty incredible thing to see when he applies it. And now he's been turned loose on me. I can't say I'm thrilled.

I spent the entire evening with a very naked Santana Lopez in my bed. If that stupid, smug grin means anything, it sure as hell looks like he's got something on me. Does he know about last night?

Ashley swings back and drops a plate in front of Brody. He winks at her as he does, eliciting a smile. I roll my eyes.

He lifts his fork and pokes around at the fruit on his plate with a small grin. "At first I thought you had switched teams. The evidence is pretty compelling, Lieutenant," I hold my breath. He's staring at me, searching my face for something. A tell. Anything. I stare right back at him, desperately hoping that I'm not showing the panic I feel building inside of me. After what feels like an eternity, he shrugs. "But then I saw you in that fun little standoff, weaponless and I knew somewhere along the line you got pulled into the POW role. That intrigued me. But not as much as the lover's quarrel between the Rebellion's sweethearts." He takes a large bite of the fresh fruit and continues, his mouth still full. "So I made a judgement call and followed Lopez and Schuester. That was a fun little spat to witness. Unfortunately I couldn't overhear much, so that was disappointing." Brody swallows and sighs heavily. "Lopez stormed off in a huff and came right back here, so I stuck close to Schuester instead. I thought maybe he'd give me _something._"

I relax a little at hearing he chose to follow Will and not Santana. Maybe he doesn't know about our night together after all. But I'm also disappointed that I didn't get to hear what Will and Santana talked about. Whatever it was obviously made Santana uneasy, and she never told me what that was all about. "And did you find out anything useful?"

"No. He was too busy pouting," he says with an exaggerated eye roll. "He just kinda paced around for awhile before calling it a night. I figured I'd just meet with my informant on the inside." I arch a brow at that comment, curious who from the Militia could be placed within these walls. But then his eyes narrow and I feel myself being sized up again. "So tell me," he says with a carefully measured air of curiosity. "How _did _you end up traveling with the infamous Rebellion Ghost?"

"We were ambushed by Raider's outside of a small town. She came across those of us that survived," I answer simply.

Brody winces in sympathy. "How many are left?"

"Four," I say regretfully. "Evans, Smythe, St. James and myself."

Brody lets out a low whistle. "You guys took a beating." I nod. We did and it still upsets me. "Where are the others being held?"

"Where's the battalion that's supposed to be here?" I fire back defensively. "They were supposed to be here whether or not we checked in. Why haven't we seen anyone to rescue us?"

A slow smile stretches across his face. He looks amused. It's infuriating, this smugness, but I can play this game just as well as he can. So I keep my features still and just stare. Finally, he nods. "Not far. A second and third are on stand-by until there's a status update."

"Who told them to hold?" I ask angrily. "We were getting slaughtered out there and you tell me that not one, but _three_ battalions are _close?_ Who made that call?"

"Your father actually," he says coolly.

I freeze. There's no way my father could've made that call from back East. Not unless…

"He's leading the battalion," Brody confirms with a small smile. "He's brought half of the Militia out this way." I don't know what to say. My father is here? He's leading the Militia? I can feel my heart hammering in my chest.

"Did he not trust me?" I ask outloud.

"Dunno," Brody says with a shrug. "He set this in motion pretty soon after you set out. So it sure seems that way, doesn't it?"

Either that or he knew something I didn't. I feel betrayed. And pissed off.

"Still, he was waiting on your word before advancing. So what I'm wondering is why you didn't check in? That's not like you," Brody continues.

I know I have to play this very carefully. With Brody here, looking for me and looking for answers and with my father closely running the show, I know that anything I say will get back to him almost instantly. I don't have the luxury of time. Now, we're playing for days instead of weeks. If he's close, does he already know about Will and Santana being here? Is that why he followed so close behind? I don't see any other reason for him to come all this way with half of the Militia no less.

This is incredibly bad for Santana.

However, I am not at all ready to let someone else dictate how I want to handle my situation with her. I've got to play this perfectly, or things will go completely sideways before I have a chance to do anything about it.

So I decide to go with the truth. For now. "We never made it to the location. The intel was wrong," I finally say. I reach for my coffee cup, taking a long, nonchalant sip.

The smile fades from his face as he looks at me. "Not possible."

"Actually, it is possible," I say with a deadly serious look. "The place was burned to the ground. Pretty recently from the looks of it. We were looking for an alternate location. That's what set us off course. We ended up wandering around in the middle of nowhere with a map that was completely incorrect." I'm getting more and more irritated just thinking about it. "Whoever was in charge of getting us those maps was either an idiot or a conspirator."

Brody winces. "Your father's not going to like hearing that."

"Yeah, well, he can get in line," I grumble. "_I_ was the one wandering around in unknown territory with a giant bullseye on my back."

"Where's the map now?"

"It got lost somewhere in the scuffle with the Raiders," I say regrettably.

He looks worried. "So the Rebellion could have it."

I shrug. "They could. Not that that it matters. They already know this area. It doesn't reveal anything except that we have a bunch of idiots working for us and we're too stupid to know it."

"Lucky for you, you ran into Santana Lopez." And the smile is back on his lips. "Funny how she popped out from underneath her rock to scoop up the Generals daughter. Why didn't you just kill her on sight?"

I don't tell him that I didn't know who she was at first, not expecting her to appear from the tiny village she emerged from. I think if anyone knew about that, I'd never hear the end of it. The General's daughter not recognizing Santana Lopez? No, I'll never tell anyone that. And I certainly won't tell him that, when given the chance to kill her, I chose to throw my blade at the Raider who had her in a deadly chokehold instead, saving her life.

I shake my head dismissively. "I didn't have a chance to. We were vastly outnumbered and surrounded. And then she strapped bombs to us."

"Of course she did," Brody says laughing. I shoot him a look. It just makes him laugh harder. "This story keeps getting better and better."

I, on the other hand, do not find the story as comical. "I'm glad you're amused."

"Well, you're not strapped to a bomb anymore," he notes, giving me an obvious once over. "And I don't see your Rebel companions anywhere. Which is just incredibly sloppy on their part, don't you think? Do they think you can't slip out of the gates unnoticed? That you don't need to be watched?" He leans in close to me. "How about we prove them wrong and get you out of this place right here and right now." He takes in another forkful and waits.

"That's a nice offer, but I'm not leaving without my men," I tell him. Of that, I'm not lying. I won't risk their safety back in that town. "They are still attached to bombs. If I don't go back..."

"I had a feeling you'd say that," Brody sighs. "Once an officer, always an officer. Where are they being held? We can _organize_ a release for them too."

The way he says it makes my skin crawl. I know exactly the type of rescue he'd organize. It would be something that would make Sebastian proud and leave no one alive.

I shake my head. "No. This is still my operation and I already have a plan in motion." He lifts his eyebrow curiously. I lean in towards him, my thoughts coming together swiftly. "Go back to my father. Tell him you found me and I'm exactly where I want to be. I'm earning their trust. Which is exactly why they've left me unattended, by the way," I say and match his arrogant smirk with my own. "Tell him he's held this long and to hold until further notice."

He laughs loudly. "Giving orders to the General? I like it." He leans back in his stool and crosses his arms. "What exactly are you planning, Lieutenant?"

I reach for my coffee and finish the last of it with a slow sip, immensely enjoying the fact that I'm finally in control of the conversation. "Tell him I'll give him exactly what he wants. Something he wants more than extracting his daughter to safety."

"I'm listening," Brody says intrigued.

I look him straight in the eye when I answer. "Tell him I'm going deliver Santana Lopez and Will Schuester right to his damn feet."

* * *

**SANTANA'S POV**

_I look over at Blaine and smile. His legs are crossed and he's leaning forward, hanging on every single word my father is saying. I've heard this story a thousand times and even though I still love it, I'm envious that this is the first time Blaine gets to hear it._

_My father watches us with a smile as he recounts the tale dramatically. "I had just stolen this horse and Will and I were being chased by some pretty scary Militia henchmen. We needed to lay low for a while. And what better place to hide than right under the Militia's nose?" He smiles at Blaine's awestruck expression and glances at me before continuing. "So we worked our way into this huge Militia town and decided to gather as much information as we could so we could be the heroes of the Rebellion." _

_I glance at my mom who, in turn, glances up at my father from her sewing with a smirk._

_"Then, one night, we went into the tavern to celebrate. And do you know what I saw, mija?" my father asks, turning to look at me. _

_"You saw mom," I say with a slight eye roll. Like I said, it's only the hundredth time I've heard this story._

_"That's right. I saw your mother for the very first time. She was dancing and laughing and I swear my heart stopped beating in my chest. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen." My father looks to my mom who meets his smile. "Then she asked me to dance with her. That's when I knew. She was the one. I loved her that very moment all the way up to this very day." He reaches out and places his hand on top of my mom's._

_I turn to look towards Blaine who has a goofy grin on his face as he stares at my parents. I wonder how many times I looked that silly listening to that story._

_"Okay, you two, time for bed. Let's go," my mom says suddenly, pulling her hand away and breaking eye contact with my father. _

_"Do we have to?" I moan. "It's not that late and I'm not tired."_

_My mom places her sewing to the side and stands, giving me a gentle shove to my feet. "No whining."_

_Blaine and I stand begrudgingly. I turn towards the direction of our shared room, but the look that passes over my parents doesn't go unnoticed. "Are you two going to kiss a lot now?" I ask, my nose wrinkling in disgust. _

_My father looks startled and slightly embarrassed as he looks away from mom. He walks towards us, ushering us towards our room. "You heard your mother! To bed!"_

_"I'll be right there to tuck you both in," my mom calls out after us._

_I look to Blaine with a smile. "I'll race you," I challenge._

_Blaine looks at me for a beat before racing towards our room. I glance at my parents who are already looking at each other and moving closer together._

_Yeah, they're definitely going to kiss._

I snort and shake my head at the memory as I brush down my horse. "Did you even steal that horse you damn liar?" I mumble angrily to myself.

I always found the story of how my parents met romantic. Something magical that happened in such a shitty time. I used to beg them to tell me that story. Love in a time of war. It was fucking inspiring.

And now I don't even know how much of what my parents told me was even accurate. According to Will, my dad never stole a horse. It was a recon mission, plain and simple: They were sneaking into the town for intel and happened to run into my mom one night at the tavern. Sure, he might've fallen in love with her instantly, but the magic that I used to crave to hear about has been stripped away. It's gone.

Now, the story is coated in lies. Everything they had ever told me, everything I had ever thought they stood for, all lies.

I throw the brush against the side of the stable as hard as I can and let out a frustrated cry. My horse makes a whining noise in protest and takes a few unstable steps backwards, snorting and shaking his head.

I reach out, placing my hand on his neck in apology.

"Easy there, tiger."

I turn at the sound of voice and see Blaine. He looks at me questionably.

"I'm sorry, I just…" I look at my horse and then at Blaine and I realize I'm not exactly sure what to say. My shoulders drop and I wordlessly beg him to understand.

He does instantly. Just like he always does. He nods his head towards the wide open doors and smiles softly. "Come on, doll. Let's take a walk."

So we do. We walk along the perimeter of the town, staying far away from the people milling about. I tell him about dad. Why he and my mom really moved out West. How he and Russell were fighting over my mom.

We stop at a worn wooden bench facing a decent sized pond. I stop and look around to make sure we're far enough away to be out of earshot. Satisfied, I drop back heavily onto the bench. I suddenly feel very tired.

"They hated each other," I continue. "They fought each other over my mother. Not politics. Not over land or religion. But over _my mother_."

"The face that launched a thousand ships!" Blaine says enthusiastically.

"It's just, everything I thought I knew, everything I thought my father stood for has been a lie," I admit. "And right now I hate him for it. I hate him so much. And I hate Will for telling me."

"Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate…" he trails off thoughtfully.

I sigh and nod. "You're right. But it's not so much the anger… I'm _scared_. I'm scared because my whole life everyone keeps telling me that I'm like my father. I used to be proud of that. I loved hearing it. But now…" I shake my head. "Now it terrifies me. I'm ending up just like him." I look down at my hands in my lap, unable to look at anything else. "I'm just as guilty as he is because just like my dad I have feelings for the wrong person." Blaine gently rests his hand on my leg. "And just like my dad I can't seem to separate my reason for fighting in this war. I thought I had gotten away from it all. That I took myself out of the game. But I'm right back in it. And it isn't about politics or land or religion anymore. It's about her. Just like what happened with my parents. But I don't want to be like him, Blaine. Not anymore."

Blaine removes his hand from my leg and instead chooses to drape it across my shoulders, pulling me into his side. I rest my head on his shoulder and sink into him. "I've fought many wars in my time," he says. "Some I've fought for land, some for power, some for glory. I suppose fighting for love makes more sense than all the rest."

"Yeah well, you can't have your cake and eat it too," I mumble. "My dad chose love and it ended up killing him." Blaine squeezes me against him even tighter. "And this damn war means so much to so many people. I might even have the chance of stopping it one day. Of finally ending it. And I mean, obviously I want it to be over. But I want Quinn, too. It's selfish. I know it's selfish. But when I'm with her, it just feels so..." I shake my head, at a loss for words. "I wish I could explain how it feels. But I can't describe it."

What I feel for Quinn, is so painfully beautiful. But I know that if I give into it, it will consume me. That alone both terrifies and excites me. But equally as deep down, I know I can't lose myself in this feeling. I can't get lost in Quinn. Not if I want to help the Rebellion. "I can't be with Quinn and end this war. As much as I wish I could, I know I can't." I pull in a deep, shaky breath and try to quiet my head from this rush of emotions. "I don't know what I should do," I softly admit.

Blaine inhales deeply. "There are only four questions of value in life, Don Octavio. What is sacred? Of what is the spirit made? What is worth living for, and what is worth dying for? The answer to each is the same: only love."

"Quinn or the Rebellion," I murmur sadly.

Blaine presses his lips to my temple and holds them there for a long moment before pulling away. "I guess you'll just have to decide for yourself."

* * *

**QUINN'S POV**

"Don't misunderstand me, Lieutenant," Brody says from the other side of the table in my room. "I'm intrigued by your plan and more than amused that you want to give the General orders. But I don't answer to you. I answer only to your father."

"Would you like to go back and tell him that you found me alive and being held by Santana Lopez but instead of letting me stay and finish the job of earning her trust, you dragged me back to him with only half-assed intel? And that instead helping me deliver him the three most infamous Rebels, you made me leave with you because you can't seem to see the bigger picture?" I ask angrily. "If that's the case then by all means take me to him. I'd love to tell him how you let Santana Lopez, Will Schuester and Sue Sylvester slip through his fingers."

He thinks about that for a minute. I can see the muscles in his jaw working as he weighs the options. After a moment, he huffs loudly and pulls a map from his back pocket. A map that looks identical to the one I was sent to the Midwest with. "Right now your father is here. That, I know is accurate." He presses his finger to a location to the east of Arlington. "The other two battalions are here and here." He points to their locations flanking the location of my father about a day behind him. "They are waiting on word from the General before advancing to what was to be the headquarters, here." He points to the location I was originally sent out to find. His eyes lift to meet mine. "Which I now know is non-existent."

"Lopez is holding us here," I tell him, pointing to a location far to the North.

He looks at me confused. "There's nothing there."

"Like I said, your map is inaccurate." He stares at me for a moment, unconvinced. I sigh and put my palms face down on the table. "Look, I've been out here a lot longer than you have. I know this place. You don't. Believe me when I tell you that it would just be flat out too dangerous and pointless to come directly to us. The place is swarming with Raiders."

"So what do you propose instead?" Brody asks a touch of annoyance in his voice.

"That I feed the Rebellion false information," I tell him simply. "I make them come to _you_. And you know that's exactly what they'll do when they find out the General is close. Then _they_ risk the Raiders and _they_ do the traveling. With any luck their numbers will drop before we even reach you." I point to two other positions further south on the map. "You can set up posts here and here. We'll funnel them through those two points and you can get the jump on them."

Eventually, he nods. "Not a bad plan."

I push myself up straight and flash him an arrogant look. "Thanks for the vote of confidence. As meaningless as it is. This is why I was assigned here, Brody. It's why I'm being promoted."

"And for a minute there I thought you might be going soft on me and playing a little _too_ nice with the enemy." He grins and I roll my eyes. "And you're sure you can get your men out safely?"

"I know I can," I tell him confidently.

He studies me carefully. "So what's next then?"

"You give me the rest of the day to hammer out the rest of the details. Later tonight, I'll meet you out back of the tavern and we'll finalize," I say trying to buy some time. "You can sneak out of Arlington tonight and tell the General exactly what's going on."

"He's not going to like me returning without you," Brody says warily.

I cross my arms. "You don't have any other options. We both know who he's really after here." Brody holds my gaze but he doesn't confirm or deny anything. I look down at the map and then back at Brody. "Plus, you need a more accurate map. I'll make sure you get one." He nods and I walk towards the door, opening it and motioning towards the hall with my head. "Now get out."

"I'll see you tonight, then." Brody shoots me a look and brushes past me, out of my room.

I close the door behind him and look back towards the map. If my father really is as close as Brody says he is, then I'm seriously running out of time.

* * *

**SANTANA'S POV**

"I've walked all over this place looking for you." I turn towards his voice. "I come in peace," Will says, holding his hands in the air. "Mind if we talk?"

I glance at Blaine and then to Will. I nod at Blaine's questioning look, letting him know it's okay.

Blaine pats me on the shoulder and stands, giving up his place on the bench. "So hang in there, man, you hear me?"

I try to give him a reassuring smile. He returns it and glances at Will before leaving us alone.

Will hesitantly sits beside me on the bench. He glances at me nervously and pulls in a deep breath. "Santana - "

"Me first," I interrupt. He looks at me for a moment before nodding his head and letting me continue. "Last night, you dumped a lot on me. And I didn't know how to handle it. So I took it out on you. And that was pretty shitty."

"You also held a gun to my face," he reminds me.

I look at him with a pointed look, not needing reminding. "I needed you to know I was serious."

"Oh, the barrel in my face let me know you were serious."

"Well, don't touch Quinn and it won't happen again," I snap, my defenses rising to the surface.

He sighs deeply and looks at me, unsure of what to say next. I let my body relax and take a deep breath, trying to get my apology back on track. "I'm sorry I yelled at you. It's just not every day you find out the war you've been fighting your whole life has revolved around a lie."

Will shakes his head. "It's not a lie, Santana. People are out there every single day fighting for what they believe in. Fighting to make this world a better place."

"Yeah and then there's my father who's fighting over his pride," I add bitterly.

"Santana, he loved you. Very much. He could've stayed to fight Russell. He chose not to." Both his tone and expression soften. "He chose to protect you and your mom."

"Yeah, while leaving us every few months to join in the fight," I remind him.

Will nods, knowing how my father couldn't completely stay away from the fight for too long. "He still cared about the cause, Santana. But he cared more about you."

"Enough to blow himself up and desert me?" I ask angrily. "I was fourteen, Will. Mom was dead and I needed him. And he just _left_ me."

Will looks at me for a moment, a sympathetic expression on his face. "I know it's hard to understand. And some days I'm not sure I understand it myself. But I _truly_ believe your father did what he thought would best protect you. By ending the feud with Russell, ending the chase, he was keeping you safe. I don't think he figured Russell would come after you."

I laugh unamused. "Well he was wrong on that one, wasn't he?"

"Unfortunately, your father always did jump in head first without thinking things through," he agrees regrettably. "I think… I think he honestly believed it would keep you safe. If he hadn't, he never would have done what he did. I promise you."

"You know, this still doesn't make me feel better," I mumble.

"I didn't think it would." He reaches out and places his hand on my shoulder. "But I hope that one day it might bring you some peace of mind." I look away, not knowing how much more of this I can stand to hear right now. "I don't think he thought of it as deserting you. I don't think he wasn't being selfish. In fact, I think he was being the most selfless he'd ever been."

"Have you ever been in love?" I ask, switching gears intentionally. I don't think I can talk about my father's death anymore today.

To Will's credit, he doesn't miss a beat. "Once," he says sadly.

"What happened?"

"I left," he says with a shrug. "I knew if I stayed she'd be in danger. I knew if she came with me, she'd be in danger. I saw what it did to your parents. I didn't want that for her. So I left."

"Like I did with Brittany."

Will nods. "And kind of like what your dad did with you."

"I'm sensing a theme here," I say warily. "Do you ever wish you'd stayed with her? Instead of leaving?"

"Every single day of my life." He smiles sadly and nods. "Maybe one day I can be with her again. But until this war is over, her being safe, that's all that matters." He takes a deep breath and squeezes my shoulder. "You're facing some rough decisions, Santana. It's not easy and I'm sorry you have to go through this. There is no right or wrong answer. You just have to choose what's important to you."

"I don't even know what's important anymore," I quietly admit.

"Unfortunately, that's not something I can help you with." He slips his arm around my shoulder and pulls me closer. "But about you and Quinn not being my business? You're wrong. _You_ are my business. You're my family. And I swore I'd keep you safe no matter what. I'd die to keep you safe, Santana. You have to know that."

I shake my head. "But that's just it. I don't want any more people I love dying to protect me."

Despite my trying to pull away, Will just draws me in closer. "That's not always up to you, kiddo."

He hugs me tightly but I don't respond.

It might not always be my choice, but I'll be damned if I let anyone else I love and care about die for me. This time, I'm making sure I keep the people I love safe.

* * *

**QUINN'S POV**

I've been wandering around this god forsaken town all morning looking for Santana. And now I find her casually strolling through the busiest street in Arlington? Just a little annoying. And so much for privacy.

She sees me stalking over towards her and smiles as she pushes her sunglasses up atop her head. Despite my frustration at having had to seek her out like this, the anger melts away at the sight of her.

I watch her weave in and out of townspeople, making her way straight towards me. "Hey," she says with a smile, stopping in front of me.

"Hi," I say, feeling the need to lean in closer towards her. "Look, we need to talk," I say and glance around for Brody or or anyone else who might take an interest in our conversation.

Her expression shifts to apologetic and she reaches out, taking my arm in her hand and pulling me off to the side, away from the crowd. "I'm sorry about this morning. I had to run a few errands then I needed to clear my head. I ended up talking to Will," she sighs. "I didn't think it would take that long."

"No, it's okay," I tell her, still glancing around.

She regards me carefully. "Really? Because it doesn't look okay."

I turn towards her and am a bit startled to find her inches away, staring back at me. "What? No, it isn't about last night or this morning. Last night was…perfect actually," I say with a blush.

"Okay…"

She looks confused. Can't say I blame her. I look over my shoulder and then back at her, stepping in close and lowering my voice. "Can we go somewhere else? And talk?"

She shakes her head. "I can't. I have to meet with someone about trading this moonshine," she says and motions towards the bag draped across her shoulder.

"It's important," I tell her seriously.

"I just really need to make this trade. It won't take long. Then I'm yours for the rest of the day," she says, already backing away.

"Santana," I try again.

But it's too late. She's already flipped her sunglasses back over her eyes and she's started to walk back down the street. "I promise," she calls out over her shoulder.

I groan in frustration as I watch her walk away.

* * *

**SANTANA'S POV**

I walk into the medical building, wanting to hurry this exchange as quickly as possible so I can get back to Quinn. Whatever it is she wants to talk about has her worried and panicky. A combination I'm not fond of.

I glance around the large building, not finding the doctor or any of his helpers anywhere. But sitting on a cot on the far side of the room is a familiar face. "George, what are you doing here?"

He looks up from the cot and smiles brightly. "Santana!" He pushes himself to a standing position and extends his arms to embrace me tightly. "Brittany said you were wandering around here somewhere!"

"I'm sorry I didn't see you last night. Are you okay?" I ask pulling back to look him up and down.

"Me? Oh, yes. Just getting something to help with this damn arthritis." He sits back down on the cot and lets out a long breath. He looks up at me with a smile. "I'm glad you came to your senses and finally talked to Brittany."

"George, I didn't come here to see Brittany," I tell him warily as I sit on the cot across from him.

"Yeah, I figure it had something to do with the Militia moving West." He lifts his eyes to gauge my reaction. I arch my brow in surprise and he chuckles. "People talk," he explains easily. "But I'm still happy you two seemed to have worked things out."

"Me too," I agree with a smile. I look around the building again, wondering why we're the only two inside. "Where's the doctor?"

"Out back getting some herbs together from his garden." George grimaces as he rubs at his hands. I frown, not liking that he's in pain. He must see my concern because he smiles and stops rubbing. "What brings you the medical center? You're too young for arthritis," he teases.

"Seeing what kind of medical supplies I can get for Tina." I look at him again, noticing the dark circles under his eyes and remembering what Brittany told me about the road being rough on him. I've noticed it too when he stops by my town. "You look tired," I tell him gently.

"I am. I hate to say it, but I'm not getting any younger. I'm afraid I might be, dare I say, old," he chuckles.

"You aren't _that_ old," I smile.

He regards me carefully and I shift, knowing he's studying me. "You're going back to war soon aren't you? That's why you're here."

"Yeah," I admit quietly.

George nods manages another smile. "Remember when you came into this town? You were starting fights with everyone," he recalls. "Throwing punches and instigating all sorts of squabbles."

I snort, remembering how bad my attitude was when I first arrived. "Yeah, I was kind of an asshole."

"And now look at you," he says excitedly. "You helped get a town back on its feet. You're considerate, generous and caring." I can feel the blush creeping up on my cheeks at his compliments. "You're not that scared, insecure little girl anymore."

I look away. "No, I'm still pretty scared."

He leans forward, extending his hand as far as he can. I reach out to take his hand and he smiles. "But now you can admit it. And that… that's really saying something."

I nod my head, thinking about how much more patient I've become, how I seem to have things in better perspective. I'd like to think I've become less selfish.

I look down at my hand in George's. "Can I ask you for another favor?"

"Anything," he says and squeezes my hand.

"I think this war is going to get pretty close to Arlington. I know Brittany would never leave, so could you… would you stick around for a while? Make sure she and the baby stay safe?" I lift my eyes to meet his.

"Of course I will," he says finally. But I can see the faraway, sad look in his eye. He knows I'm not telling him something, but he knows well enough not to butt in and ask despite how much he might want to. Instead, he pats my hands in his own and gives it another squeeze. "Of course I will."

* * *

**QUINN'S POV**

Seriously, how long does it take to trade some damn moonshine?

I feel as if I've been pacing in my room for hours, even though it's probably only been closer to one hour. Even still, I'm running out of time and it's starting to make me anxious.

I rush towards the door when I hear light knocking coming from the other side.

_Finally!_

I fling the door open impatiently and shoot Santana a look of annoyance.

"Hi," she says, taken aback. I stick my head out of the door and look from side to side down the hallways to make sure we're alone. I grab Santana's wrist and yank her into the room forcefully. "Sorry. I promised Tina I'd bring her medical supplies." I quickly close and lock the door. "You okay?"

"No!" I say, whirling around to face her. "I've been trying to talk to you all day!"

Her expression hardens. "I'm sorry! I had shit to do!" she fires back, annoyed. I can feel the panic starting to settle deeper. Santana seems to notice because her expression changes from annoyed to concerned. She takes a step closer to me. "What's going on?"

I glance behind me at the closed door, half expecting the Militia to come barreling through any second. "You're running out of time, Santana!" I blurt out.

"What are you talking about?"

I take deep breaths, trying to calm myself before I answer. She looks at me curiously before I see her notice the map on the table behind me. I can see in her expression that she's already putting all the pieces together in her head. "My father, he's close," I say finally. "With hundreds of soldiers and even more on stand-by."

"How close?" Her tone is low. She sounds so calm about it.

And it pisses me off.

"_That_ close," I say, slamming my finger down at the location Brody pointed out. Santana looks down at the map, her eyes trained on my finger. "Everyone thinks he's looking for me, but I have a pretty strong feeling he's here looking for _you_." She lifts her eyes and looks at me. "You don't even look surprised!"

"That's because I'm not."

I throw my hands up in the air. "Santana Lopez, ladies and gentlemen! Always one step ahead of the rest of us!"

"Hey," she says and reaches out to grab my arms. She turns my body to face her and looks at me with a calm and reassuring expression. "It's going to be okay," she says, pulling me into her.

My body melts into hers as the panic slowly starts to roll away in her arms. I sink into her and bury my face into her neck. "He's going to find us and I don't think I can stop him," I mumble against her skin.

"It's not your job to stop him, Q," she says softly.

I pull back and look at her, unsure of how and why she's so calm. "Why aren't you scared?"

She kisses my forehead and steps out of the embrace, taking my hand in her own. "Come here," she says and leads me towards the door. "Will's already put the rest of the Rebellion on alert. He's been sending out runners ever since he learned the Militia might be pushing out West. He has men ready to fight. So whatever happens, we'll be ready."

I plant my feet before she can pull me through the doorway and tug on her arm, stopping her. "Santana, there's something I need to tell you." She turns to look at me curiously, glancing at the door and then back at me. I look down at our joined hands and I watch as my thumb brushes over her knuckles. "The reason I'm here, the reason we're pushing out West… this is where we're setting up our Midwestern Unit. We're expanding to eventually take control of the Midwest. It's been in motion for years."

"We had a feeling that might be what was going on." Her voice is so soft it makes me look up at her, finally meeting her eyes.

"Once we were settled in, I was to be promoted to Captain and lead the entire force here," I continue. And suddenly, saying the words out loud carries none of the pride it once had.

Her eyebrow arches but other than the simple gesture, she gives nothing else away. "That's quite the honor."

"There's more," I say nervously. "My father sent his best infiltrator to find me." Her back straightens. "Well, he found me."

Now she looks a little concerned. "When?"

"This morning. In the tavern." Her eyes go hard and her hand slips from mine. I watch as her hand falls to her side. "That's what I've been trying to tell you." I set my jaw and look at her. "I gave him a message. A message for my father."

"What did you tell him? What's the message for you father?" She asks me cautiously.

A strange feeling of calm falls over me for the first time since my run-in with Brody. My eyes lift to hers and I hold her gaze. "I promised him you."

* * *

**Thank you so much for all the kind reviews and messages. I read and appreciate every single one of them. **

**I have to absolutely take pause to thank Fran for letting me ramble on about the future of this fic and to Shiela, my Hawaiian Sunshine, for constantly giving me new ideas - even when she isn't aware she's doing it! You two lovely ladies are fantastic. (You are too, Beth, your excitement is utterly infectious!) **


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